The Washerwoman
by LlamaMathilde
Summary: When Boromir's demise leaves Princess Lothiriel with a baby on the way and the choice of shaming her family or starting anew, she sets her course for the Riddermark.
1. Chapter 1

July 3 - Apartments of the Steward

It was unusual for the brothers to argue, and their hissed voices carried through the corridor.

There were no servants about. Lothiriel had sent them all away. She made her footfalls deliberate, and neither brother was surprised to see her appear around the corner, as only she or Lord Denethor could be expected here at this hour.

"It was a fell dream," Cousin Faramir insisted again. "I would that it were I who rode, instead of you."  
"But it is I whom father commanded, and I who shall go," Boromir said in low tones.

"Stubborn – " Faramir's eyes darted to Lothiriel, and he checked himself. "I will accompany you to the gate tomorrow, and then I leave for Ithilien. Brother - " A look passed between them. They embraced briefly, and then Faramir inclined his head to Lothiriel and strode past.

Lothiriel nodded in acknowledgment and turned her attention to her betrothed. "My lord. You leave at dawn?"

Even on this night, before he was to ride off alone into the unknown, he would barely look at her. "Do not trouble yourself, Cousin."

He was twenty years her senior, but at this moment it did not matter to her. She could feel the burn of the Eye behind her, the one she had glimpsed in her uncle's study. The reticence she had felt upon the betrothal three years ago had already been slipping, and the nightmare vision of her cousin's doom had seared the last of it away. She rested a hand on his arm. "Boromir."

Now he dropped his gaze onto her face, but his eyes were still grave and troubled, seeing past her to his unknown quest.

"Boromir." She put both hands on his shoulders and stood on tiptoe. She could not draw him to her, for he was unyielding and she was too small, so she pressed herself closer instead.

Now she had his full and startled attention. "Cousin?" He tried to pry her white fingers from his shoulders, but she held fast. The knot of his belt dug into her stomach through the pale silk of her dress.

"My lord, it is not my place to ride with you, nor to protect you, but I would comfort you as I can."

Boromir gasped. "Lothiriel!" He stepped away from her, aghast, and she stumbled. By reflex he was forced to catch her around the waist.

Lothiriel breathed into his tunic, her heart racing. "Please, Boromir. What would you have me do?"

"Not this!" Boromir caught her hands up, retreating from her again. "Lothiriel, we can be married – sooner – I had thought you too young, but when I return – "

 _And if you do not return?_ "I would give you a good memory to return to." Lothiriel spoke quickly, willing away the image of the black arrows. "Let us have this one night, Boromir. Please. It is my greatest wish that you should forget your troubles and be happy for one night, and then return to me."

Boromir dropped her hands abruptly. "I could not take advantage of you like this." But his eyes darted across her face.

"It is not an advantage. We are betrothed." Lothiriel slipped the shawl from her shoulders, leaving them bare. The chill whipped away the image of Boromir's body falling to the ground.

"Betrothed but not yet married." Boromir shook his head sharply, like a wet dog. "Princess, await my return, and I – "

Lothiriel reached out a hand, letting her shawl drop to the floor. She rested her hand on his arm and drew him closer, and this time he did not resist. She put her other hand to his cheek. "Boromir."

Boromir followed her as she stepped backwards into his chambers, and he shut the door behind them.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Characters and stories of course from Tolkien, if you can call a one-line mention of Lothiriel a real character.

A/N: Hello to anyone reading this story! Sorry if you were expecting lemons. This story stays in the T zone. Reviews are welcome, although I may not be able to respond. Expect quick updates (I hope I don't jinx myself here) as the story is essentially complete.

* * *

July 4 - Prow of Minas Tirith

Lothiriel stood at the prow of the City and watched as Lord Boromir and his horse dwindled on the Pelennor. Another figure began raising dust, riding out towards Osgiliath. That would be Cousin Faramir.

The Lord Denethor dropped his hands from the balcony.

"A party from Lebennin will be arriving tomorrow. They will leave the following morning. Prepare what is necessary."

"Yes, my lord." Lothiriel dared not look at the Lord Steward, afraid that his piercing eyes would see her naked in his son's bed, Boromir's hand pushing her down as she rose to get dressed.

 _Princess, I would keep you like this in my mind's eye._

"How - how many, my lord?"

"Between four and eight." That should have been the extent of the conversation, but to Lothiriel's amazement, she could feel Lord Denethor's eyes continuing to study her. He went on, "It pleases me that I can delegate such responsibilities to you. You are becoming a credit to your house."

Lothiriel looked up, startled, and the Steward rewarded her with a thin-lipped smile. "Your father will be pleased."

Lothiriel barely saw the Steward leave, for at his words, a great briny knot had started growing in her chest. How ironic that the first time the Lord Steward was to compliment her, she should feel this way. Boromir and his horse were now a mere speck in the distance, beyond the Rammas Echor, and as Boromir disappeared, words roared in Lothiriel's ears like the sea. _No man respects a loose woman. Marital relations are for the marital bed._

Suppose Boromir changed his mind. The giddy joy of the morning was gone with the dust of Boromir's leaving. Lothiriel scrabbled for the ring Boromir had given her this morning. He had flicked through her jewelry boxes as the precious minutes had ticked away and come up with a silver chain. _When we wed, you shall wear it on your finger._ Lothiriel clutched the ring like a talisman, but the silver which had been warm from his finger felt cold in the dawn.

"Good morning, Princess."

Lothiriel spun around. The ring knocked sharply on her chest. She dared not draw attention to it by tucking it back in, but to her dismay, her greeter was sharp-eyed Faramir, Captain of the Rangers.

She spotted the narrowing of his eyes and angled herself towards the Pelennor. "Good morning, Cousin. I marked a rider for Osgiliath and thought you were bound across the river."

"I am. I sent my lieutenant ahead with some orders. I wished a word with Father before I left."

That conversation was not bound to go well. Conversations between the two of them never did. Lothiriel nodded with sympathy, and suddenly Cousin Faramir was right beside her. "You are looking well this morning, Princess. And that is a lovely ring you are wearing."

Lothiriel was taken aback. Captain Faramir had only ever extended her the most polite of courtesies. She hardly knew him, as he was often across the river and she was often in far too close proximity to the Steward. He had never commented on her appearance before. Was Boromir in the habit of giving trinkets to loose women? She cast about for a suitable response. Perhaps a thank you?

It seemed like in Boromir's absence, the men of his family were in a rather good mood, for Cousin Faramir suddenly bestowed upon her a warm smile before she could answer. "We all await Boromir's return. Take comfort in that, if you can." He bowed to her and left.

Lothiriel gazed far out over the field, but Boromir was nowhere in sight. The ring, when she tucked it beneath her shift, warmed against her chest.


	3. Chapter 3

August - The Princess' Apartments at Minas Tirith

After that cherished night, Lothiriel had expected her thoughts to be full of daydreams, but they were not. During the day, she managed her uncle's household with growing tension, noting the stockpiling of goods and the requisition of arms around the city, and their effect on the price of bread and the availability of the servants. At night, she tossed restlessly and felt miserable. A puling sickness made her pick at her food, she missed her courses, and she knew what had happened.

Henneth, who had been her mother's maid, did not take her to task. "I mix your linens with those of the other ladies, my lady," Henneth said one day, as she brushed Lothiriel's long, dark hair. Lothiriel stiffened, but Henneth continued impassively, "And I have the charge of sorting them. There will be no talk, until you are ready to announce it."

Henneth carefully drew up the silver chain and the silver ring upon it, a delicate band adorned with filigree flowers. She fastened the chain around her mistress' pale neck reverently. "I imagine Lord Boromir will be most pleased."

But the weeks drew on, and Boromir did not return. Henneth's eyes were worried, and she and her mistress counted the days anxiously.

* * *

October - The Eye in the Tower

The Steward's tower was cold stone and forbidding. In three years, Lothiriel had only ever seen Uncle Denethor allow her cousins or herself to enter. Lothiriel accepted the tray of food from Lord Denethor's ancient valet at the bottom of the guarded stairs and started climbing. She knocked at the door, too short of breath to speak.

"Enter."

Lothriel maneuvered open the door, and the Steward glanced at the tray. "Leave it there," he said, gesturing at a semi-clear spot on a table full of maps.

Lothiriel did as she was bid, stepping into the room to await futher instruction and casting a nervous glance at the large glassy orb on the desk. Lord Denethor saw her and flung his robe over the desk. He rested his hand jealously on the curve of the sphere, caressing it through the velvet.

"What did you see?"

"I saw nothing," Lothiriel said, frightened.

The Steward looked at her suspiciously for a moment. Then he gestured at her sharply. "I gave that ring to Finduilas."

Lothiriel's dresses were looser now, and the ring had fallen free.

Lothiriel felt blindly for the catch in the chain. "I am sorry, Uncle, you can have it back- "

"Leave it." Lord Denethor's stare unnerved her. "Boromir gave it to you."

It was a statement, not a question, and Lothiriel nodded.

"Very good." He gazed out the tower window for a moment, and then changed the subject abruptly. "Your father visits at the end of the month. Prepare the usual rooms." He dismissed her with the discontinuation of his look.

Lothiriel dropped an unseen curtsy and left. As she closed the door, she saw him uncover the sphere again, and a nameless fear crept with her down the tower stairs.

That night, she dreamt of Boromir, and his mouth was cruel and cold, and he called her names. "I am leaving," dream-Boromir said. "You do not deserve my respect." He took the hand of an elf-maiden with long, fair tresses and walked off into an endless green-and-gold wood. Lothiriel woke in tears.


	4. Chapter 4

November - Dinner with the Steward

Prince Imrahil paid a visit to the Steward in early November. They talked of war, and Lothiriel presided over their meals with trembling hands.

If her father had had more social appointments, he must have canceled them quietly through his squire, for he spent much of the visit with her on long walks around the upper levels of the City. Her heart wept at the warmth he showed her, for she believed her behavior had lost her the merit of it.

Lothiriel was terribly lonely. She had never had any close friends at court. As the Princess of Dol Amroth and the future wife of the Steward's Heir, she had arrived outranking every other lady and had never been forgiven for it. Perhaps she could have tried harder, but the court was so different from the familiar atmosphere of Dol Amroth that the crucial first month had come and gone. She never had to wonder why her Aunt Finduilas had withered away in Minas Tirith. Of course, Lothiriel wasn't withering away; quite the opposite. She was expanding, and thankful that the current fashions gave her some room to hide.

Lothiriel was trying so hard to be unobtrusive and unnoticeable – a difficult task in a three-person meal – that she lost track of the conversation. She suddenly noticed that there was a pause, and through her lashes she could see that both men were looking in her direction. "I am so very sorry, my Lord Steward; Father. I missed what you were saying."

Prince Imrahil gave her a look of indulgent concern. "The Steward and I were discussing plans for the evacuation of Minas Tirith. He thinks the household, shortened as it will be, will be able to cope without you for a while. And I am of the opinion that it is better to get you settled somewhere, safely, before the main rush of civilians leaves the city."

"Evacuation!" Lothiriel did not try to hide the dismay in her voice. Cousin Boromir, if he were here and not on his quest, would surely fight the orcs of Mordor all the way up to the top of the Tower of Ecthelion.

Prince Imrahil held up a hand in an appeasing gesture. "Peace, daughter. Remember that you are a Princess of the Realm." He glanced at the Steward. "We would see you well away from the battle, just as surely as we must see your brothers in it."

Such a request phrased in terms of duty was easier to accept. "Very well, Father. Shall I accompany you back to Dol Amroth?"

Her father exchanged glances with the Steward again. "Actually, your Uncle has mentioned that Lord Forlong has agreed to take you on."

Lothiriel was so startled that she tipped her glass by accident. As her father cursed lightly in amusement, Lothiriel waved away the servants and mopped the mess up with her napkin, using the seconds to try to compose herself.

 _Lord Forlong!_ She liked Lord Forlong; he was a jolly fellow with a wide girth. But he was an old widower...

She listened with half an ear while her father gave Lord Denethor's excuses: Dol Amroth risked an attack by corsairs; Lossarnach was far enough to be safe, but close enough to be convenient; Lord Forlong's daughters would welcome her company.

Lothiriel knew the real reason. Lord Denethor had found out. As she was no longer suitable for Cousin Boromir, Lord Denethor was arranging, very discreetly indeed out of respect for his late wife's family, an alternative solution. Perhaps he had not yet told her father, but he was sure to do so soon, and Lothiriel's disgrace would be upon her. It was up to Lothiriel to find an alternative of her own.


	5. Chapter 5

November - Not Going to Lossarnach

"Are you quite sure I must leave you?" Henneth repeated.

"Yes, Henneth," Lothiriel replied, wringing her hands lightly. "You must be present at Lossarnach. Lord Forlong is an important leader, and I do not want to anger him against the House of the Stewards. Are you sure of your role?"

Henneth fanned her hands out, rehearsing her lie. "I tell them that my lady sent me ahead to prepare her rooms, and then I wait a few weeks and say I heard from my lady that her father requests her in Dol Amroth." Henneth patted the postdated letter in her traveling bag.

"Very good."

"Milady, will you be all right on your own?"

"Lord Faramir is in Osgiliath, Lord Boromir is away, and Lord Denethor keeps to his tower. No servants should be back here after the evacuation, and the food and money should last until December. My Lord Boromir must be back before then. I have heard that it snows in Imladris. Surely no quest can take place in the snow."

"Yes, milady, but suppose you should have any trouble with the baby," Henneth still looked as worried as Lothiriel felt. Then her brow cleared. "Of course. If you run into trouble, any trouble at all, my cousin's cousin Malath is a washerwoman. She comes every week. Look for a big woman with brown hair. She usually has her girl Cewin with her, a skinny thing. You can tell her..." Henneth trailed off.

"I shall tell her I am a lady's maid."

"Very good, milady."

Lothiriel felt her composure start to crumble. "Thank you, Henneth." She moved swiftly into the adjoining room without looking at her maid. "Goodbye." Lothriel shut the door, beginning her own isolation. She heard Henneth open and close the outer door gently, and she wiped away the brine of her tears.

* * *

January - Alone

Staying in her apartments was unpleasant but feasible. The terrace had both its own garden and a small water pump. The garderobe went down a dark sloped stone hole to who knows where, but the ancient plumbing of Minas Tirath, and the work of servants elsewhere in the fortress, kept the air fresh. Lothiriel took cold sponge baths, learned to braid her own hair, and ate miserable pickled dinners out of sour pickled jars. Occasionally she would don Henneth's wimple and sneak down the servants' entrance to buy some fresh food. There was no question of stealing food from the closely counted storerooms. There were still many women and children in the city, so Lothiriel's presence was not overly remarkable yet. However, companies of foot soliders in gleaming helmets with their stern-eyed captains had begun to be posted everywhere, and the balance of men to women in the city would only increase.

When Lothiriel went out, she watched the washerwomen come and go and marked out Malath and Cewin, who arrived and left together nearly every day. They unloaded and loaded their cart efficiently. Lothiriel was soon able to identify what she thought of as their particular spot.

December came and went with no sign of Boromir, and Lothiriel fell ill. She might have caught some sickness from the garrisons, or perhaps it was just from despair and poor nutrition. In her fevered panic, she felt she might actually die, and the worry for Boromir's and her child within her prompted her to stumble down to the laundry courtyard. She reached the jumble of hampers for Malath and Cewin, and promptly collapsed.

* * *

A/N I hope the story doesn't feel too cerebral? I mean, Lothiriel is in isolation at this point. Hopefully the next chapters will feel as though they pick up more.

Also, I think fainting is probably more common in fiction than in real life. I had different scenarios skirting abortion and suicide as ways that Lothiriel would run into Malath and Cewin, but then I decided this was really going to be a fluffier story than that. However, I also thought Lothiriel might in fact try to hide away the entire time, and I didn't want to write in months of solitude, so enter the plot-enhancing-swoon...


	6. Chapter 6

A/N Thanks Certh, eschscholzia, and heckofabecca for reviewing! This chapter is naturally longer than the others. I will try to cut them a bit more this length or longer as the scenes permit.

Unfortunately, there will be no resurrection o' Boromir here, so if you need a good Boromir!lives tale, I point you to "Boromir's Return" by Osheen Nevoy. If you know of any others, please let me know! Boromir is one of my favorite characters.

* * *

January - The Washerwomen

When Lothiriel awoke, the air in front of her was a misty haze; then she breathed in a good deal of steam, and the scent of strong lye soap.

"Malath, she's awake," a crisp voice called. "You lie back." A strong hand pushed her down, and chapped pink lips pursed into a frown. "You've caused enough trouble, upsetting the cart. We almost ran you over. We spilled all the linens and had to boil them again, thanks to you."

"Leave her alone, Cewin." The older woman made her way over. "How do you feel, child? Hungry?" The woman didn't wait for a response. "I'll fetch you something to eat. We're only women here, so feel free to relieve yourself. The pot's under the bed."

"I'm not emptying it for her."

"Hush, Cewin, I'll do it."

"And it's my bed, it is."

"'Tis big enough for two, Cewin. Come help me."

Lothiriel relieved herself hesitantly, rinsing with part of a pitcher of water set on a stand. The women came back, one rather plump and older, the other as sharp-featured as her tongue.

Lothiriel was offered a crust of bread and some dry cheese.

Malath began the questioning. "Child, where are you from? Have you a family in these troubled times?"

Lothiriel considered this question, and then she shook her head. She had no family now, not if Boromir did not return.

Malath took one of Lothiriel's hands in her own muscled, callused one. "For sooth you have a lady's hands," she said, her brow in a perplexed frown. "And how far are you along? Four or five months, I wager?"

"I was a lady's maid," Lothiriel started hesitantly.

"Yes, of course." Malath patted her shoulder. "In the family way, and hiding. 'Tis why we took you back here. There are no ladies in the Upper Level any more."

Lothiriel stared at her in shocked silence.

"Expecting!" Cewin whined. "Malath, we can't keep her here! We are respectable women here, you, you harlot!"

"I am not a harlot!" Lothiriel's voice snapped in the damp air like the sail of her father's fastest warship.

Celin rocked back on her feet, and her mouth pinched shut.

"I have only ever loved one man," Lothiriel continued, "and once he knows about the baby, we will wed!"

The skepticism on Cewin's and Malath's faces pierced Lothiriel like the tip of a knife.

"We will," Lothiriel insisted weakly, humiliated. But she did not know. Dream-Boromir had done his work well. She could not be sure of Boromir now.

Malath sighed as though a beloved dog had just vomited all over the wash. "'Tis too late to do anything with the babe but keep it."

Lothiriel flinched.

"Oh, she's just saying it," Cewin snapped. "Of course she'd let you keep it if you wanted."

"You'll stay with us," Malath went on, ignoring Cewin. "We'll sort out what to do if we survive this war, which is nearly upon us."

Cewin regarded Lothiriel crossly, with disgust. "Malath, how will we feed and clothe an extra two mouths, never mind our own? Oughtn't she pay us, at least?"

"Bite your tongue," Malath started, but Lothiriel spoke up tremulously.

"I have some coins," Lothiriel said, drawing out her purse and opening it to count the money. "I think I can pay ten copper a day, for a month or more."

Cewin seized the purse before Lothiriel could blink. "You daftie!" she exlaimed. She tugged the strings shut and stuffed the sack roughly in a crock on a shelf along the wall. The jar was identical to its neighbors and marked "sugar," and Cewin slammed the lid down so hard that the pottery made a crunching noise. "What if we had been thieves, you imbecile? Why would you wave such money around like that?"

"If you had been thieves, you would have searched me and cut my throat already," Lothiriel said calmly. Cewin reminded her of her brother Amrothos.

"Well, maybe," Cewin frowned. "But we are not."

"Then may I have my purse back?"

"No! What would you do, wear it?"

"We won't keep it," Malath said, not bothering to look at Cewin. "You'll work for your keep. There is plenty to do."

"What is she going to do with hands like those?" Cewin protested.

"She can fold."

"But that's the easy part!"

"Cewin! Must you act such the child?"

Cewin's cheeks blushed in high, furious color, and she stomped out of the house.

"Come, child." Malath took the remains of the dry bread and stuck it back in the larder. "Follow me, and you can learn."

The house was right at the foot of the great cliffs, in a little inlet. It was one of dozens around the rocky bay, and all the houses were of washerwomen. The men, if there were any, had all gone away for soldiers.

Malath said a few sharp words to Cewin and then left the small yard to deliver the clean linens, leaving Cewin to instruct Lothiriel in her new occupation. Lothiriel had little strength for stirring the large cauldrons, nor for hauling water from the distilling well, where it was freed of salt. The taller, stronger Cewin was unimpressed, but thankfully more practical than cruel.

"We have a lot to wash and only a little time. You stir only as long as it takes me to scrub. Then I'll take the stirring while you work the wringer. We'll both take in the drying and hang up the wet. Then you fold while I get the water for the next load."

"I can fetch the water, if you'd like to fold," Lothiriel offered.

"You'll do as I say, lady's maid," Cewin sniffed, and began plumping foul-smelling baskets from the wagon into the yard.

Lothiriel's breath caught in horror at the blood-soaked basket of linens that Cewin produced. Cewin looked grim. "It's from Osgiliath. They say the east bank will fall by winter's end. I am surprised there is any blood left in it at all."


	7. Chapter 7

January - Lossarnach

Henneth stared at the papers on her desk. The desk was fine walnut, fitting well in the fine room, which was beautifully accoutered and lacked only the lady to complete it. Her lady's correspondence had been forwarded to her. There was no inquiry from the Lord Steward, thank the Valar, but here was a letter from Lord Elphir, and another from Lord Erchirion, and yet another from Lord Amrothos, and one from the good Prince Imrahil himself.

Henneth picked up the quill in a trembling hand. "Dear my Lord Father," she wrote, "I am well and think of you and my brothers. Be not alarmed at my hand, for I have tripped and fallen and it is my lady's maid Henneth who writes. The ladies are agreeable," for they were, a sweet brace of sisters, "but I worry for you." That certainly had to be true. "I urge you not to concern yourself over much with me, but rather with the war upon us. Peace, I shall be short now to save Henneth's hand," which was the nice sort of considerate touch Lady Lothiriel might have added. "With great love, Lothiriel."

Henneth penned three more false letters in hesitating succession and added them to the courier's sack.

* * *

February - At the Washerwomen's

Lothiriel's tasks grew lighter as her belly grew heavier. Partly she was getting accustomed to the work, and partly Cewin and Malath were giving her different things to do.

Along with normal sorts of laundry, there were countless sets of sweat-stained padding, for under the armor, Malath explained. Some came from the City and the Wall, and were merely smelly. Others came from Cair Andros, Osgiliath, and even Ithilien. These sets emerged with rusty stains still clinging to them. The winter sun did not have the power to bleach them quite white, but Malath said that any color was acceptable, as long as they were clean.

Occasionally some padding or tunics would arrive with great rents in them. As washerwoman, their job was only to wash, but Malath began setting Lothiriel to mending. She noted the pieces on a separate tick, and Lothiriel's fine, even stitches were earning them some extra coins. When Malath one day purchased dried apricots and sweet pickles, Lothiriel thought with some satisfaction that Cewin had no cause to complain.

* * *

February 26 - Boromir's Horn

The clothespins fell from Lothiriel's fingers. The call she heard was like the hunting horns from her childhood in Dol Amroth, but much louder and much clearer. Cewin appeared not to have heard anything.

To Lothiriel, the horn spoke of grief and despair. She had heard tales of the Horn of Gondor, and she wondered if Boromir were dying. She thought of him suddnely, not Dream-Boromir, who had taunted her and left her, but Boromir who had touched her face and hair and called her a treasure in his mind's eye.

Lothiriel heard Boromir's voice call to her now, clearly, though she hardly remembered its sound. "Lothiriel!"

She turned, but the voice became Malath's voice, and a great pain seized her. From then on, her world became pain, and little more.

On the edges of her consciousness, Lothiriel was aware of Malath and Cewin talking with someone, some healer they had sent for.

"The babe is too early. If you move her, they will both die. That much I can say."

"Fine," snapped Cewin. "Here is the money."

"We thank you," added Malath, but even her voice lacked its customary good nature.

"The Lord Steward will bar the gates. If she passes before sunrise, the two of you can still escape."

"Best you be going," Malath insisted. "I'm sure you have other patients to attend to."

Malath grabbed the door before Cewin could slam it. Cewin flounced over and sponged Lothiriel's feverish forehead. "Unworthy cow," she muttered. "Pay her no mind, Niniel."

Lothiriel took her strength and grasped at Cewin's hand. "You must leave the city," she croaked.

"If the City falls, they will kill us where we hide," Cewin retorted.

"If there is fighting, there will be plenty to wash," Malath offered. "Hush, now. Count with the pain."

But later in the night, as Lothiriel gibbered and panted, she heard Malath whisper to Cewin, "If you hurry, you will make it to the salt caves."

And Cewin answered disdainfully, "Osiric is on the Wall. He will not abandon his post, and neither will I." Then she leaned over the bed swiftly. She slapped Lothiriel's cheek. "Wake up! Hold my hands! Malath, she looks too pale. Have we any more of that soup?"

Boromir would fight. He must have died fighting. Lothiriel roused herself with an effort, rallying every cord of muscle to the cause, winching herself up like a giant capstan. She sat up for the soup, and choked, and counted aloud. Malath let out her breath. "Good girl. Stay with us."

Ecthelion, son of Boromir, slipped into the world with a great red cry, at dawn.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Apologies if I don't respond to or acknowledge any reviews during the week. It's turning out that I just barely have time to post a chapter some days.

* * *

March 15 - Fall of the Gate

The first month of baby Ecthelion's life was spent in the shadow of his mother's mortal terror. Fortunately, he nursed easily, for there was little help. The Houses of Healing were busy with casualties, first from Cair Andros, then from Osgiliath.

The supply of clean linen rested on the overworked arms of Cewin and Malath. It seemed that every soldier must sleep with his armor on, for no padding was sent to wash, only linens and wraps from the Houses of Healing. Lothiriel, exhausted though she was, hung and fetched and folded and stacked without complaint, for that was the easy and clean part of the job. Ecthelion rested in a sling around her front, and she wished her arms were a foot longer apiece.

A great shuddering crash broke Cewin's stirring for a moment. They had just lit the cauldrons an hour before, at what they thought might be dawn in the sunless sky. The girls cowered in fear.

"Get working," Malath scolded, though she was white with fright herself. "The men may die of infection. Boil those, Cewin."

But now they heard the sounds of steel, close by, and as one, their eyes turned to the low wall. The washing inlet was on the first level, by the sea, but behind several walls, for the Men of Old had anticipated how precious an access to water could be. The fighting could be no further than the furthest wall.

"Cewin!" Lothiriel hissed. "If they come, I cannot run as fast. You must take him and run as far as you can. Can you swim?"

"No, I can't swim. I will be a better fighter. You take him yourself. Swim along the cliffs. Besides, he will die without your milk."

The women watched the wall, waiting for their doom, but doom did not come, so they continued to work, trembling and cold.

And then a sound rang out, but it was not a cry of bloodlust and murder. It was horns, many horns, as though Boromir's horn had returned tenfold.

The sound alone was like a deliverance.

"Boromir!" Lothiriel screamed, causing Ecthelion to wake and wail.

Cewin raised her washing stick. "Gondor!"

Malath rounded on both of them. "Quiet! Do you want to bring the orcs upon us?"

The girls instantly fell silent. Lothiriel hurriedly put Ecthelion to nurse, where he suckled with what seemed like obscenely loud noises.

They waited again, going about their chores with stiff, numb limbs. Hours passed, but the fighting grew more distant instead of coming closer.

And then, in the afternoon, there was a scratching at the wall.

Cewin and Malath raised their sticks with shaking hands, and Lothiriel turned from the yard to flee.

But it was only two servants from the Houses of Healing with a cart of linens. They called cautiously about the abandoned courtyard. With visible relief, they spotted the women.

"What news?" Malath called.

"The fell beasts broke the gates," answered one of the men, "but Rohan has come. Fighting is thick on the Pelennor." He paused. "You should not be here, madam, but we are glad you are. The wounded outnumber the hale in the city, and the dead surpass even the wounded. I will give word for guards to be posted your way, since you are here, and the smoke from your fires may attract the vicious brutes in their escape."

Malath clapped her hands over her mouth, and then rushed and got the buckets to douse the fires.

The women sorted the linens uneasily and prepared the cauldrons, but did not light any fires until a haphazard outfit of guards appeared, Gondorian soldiers in various states of ill repair.

"We are mostly from the Wall," the leader explained, and Cewin scanned their faces and then grew gray and closed. "All seemed lost, until the Riders of Rohan swept down from the hillside. Did you mark the horns?"

As the afternoon wore on, the guard was replaced with an increasingly motley crew, and Lothiriel got her first glimpse of tall, blond, limping, blood-encrusted Riders of Rohan.

"Handsome," Malath murmured, with grateful adoration in her eyes.

Cewin's head was not turned. "Hairy," she sniffed as she labored over the scrubbing board. "Though, I am grateful," she added belatedly.

Over the next two days, the endless loads of linens piled ever higher. But the tide of the battle had turned, and now actual garments were among the bandages. A few other washerwomen had returned, and Cewin traded sharp elbows securing the loads of tunics and hose, leaving the blood- and tissue- spattered linens to the seething neighbors.

And then, quite suddenly, Ecthelion fell ill.


	9. Chapter 9

March 17 - The Houses of Healing

Ecthelion was frightfully red. With the orcs of Mordor cleared from the city, only the fear of discovery held Lothiriel back from the Houses of Healing. But it was not a strong enough fear. Lothiriel donned a wimple and one of Malath's large dresses, so it hung about her. If she were discovered, she would make her case before the Steward. Or perhaps she would approach Cousin Faramir, and he would raise his brother's son in Boromir's stead. She minded the smile she had seen from him that once.

Lothiriel wrapped Ecthelion snugly as Cewin counted out their pooled money and knotted it in a handkerchief.

"Remember, you say as how he suddenly took to red," Malath reminded them. "Leave out no detail. The Healers should know. And don't you go to those pretenders on the fourth or fifth level. That was my mistake when you were birthing. Straight to the top with him." The girls nodded and set off.

The Houses stank of blood and death, but, as Lothiriel had heard, only the patients suffering from the Black Breath remained. The others had been moved to apartments on the same level, and possibly even into Lothiriel's old apartments; she did not know.

Lothiriel pulled on the bell, and an assistant came to meet them. He looked troubled. "Madam, you may not visit with a child. Those afflicted with the Black Breath can be unpredictable."

"My child is ill," Lothiriel said sharply. "He needs attention, and I have the coin to give it."

"Hush, madam, hush. There are wounded men here. I will fetch the Warden, but it may be some time before he can see you. Wait here."

After an anxious hour spent cursing the Houses of Healing and their Warden and their slow assistants back and forth with Cewin, the older man finally came to the door. He weathered the women's glares impassively. "I am sorry for the delay, madam. There are many wounded and suffering."

Cewin took an uncharacteristic fright. "I'll be going back to Malath, Niniel." She slipped an extra coin into Lothiriel's apron pocket. "Send a runner when you're ready for us to fetch you."

Cewin took off, but Lothiriel had no time to wonder about her. The Warden motioned her in. Lothiriel looked at him, surprised. "Is it safe, master Warden?" she asked, suddenly wondering about the quarantine.

"Yes, yes." He drew her inside, laying freshly-washed fingers on Ecthelion's head. The baby flinched at the cold. "It is not that we fear the Black Breath will spread, but rather that those with the Black Breath are so disturbed that we would not have them suffer the cries of the wounded on top of it." He rolled a tiny eyelid gently up. "Who knows but that a baby's cry might be welcome."

Lothiriel was led to a small empty room, and some healer's assistants appeared with hot water and bowls of some fresh-smelling herb. The Warden gave some instructions, and smiled at her reassuringly. "I think we have the means to treat this fellow," he said.

"He's not been fretful, nor sickly, but suddenly he's come all over red," Lothiriel got out in a rush.

The healer nodded. "Yes." He looked closely at her. "He is still nursing?"

Lothiriel's cheeks flamed. "Yes, master Warden."

"Hmm. Good. Have a bit of this, to be sure. This, too."

The first spoon was a fishy sort of oil, the second a sharp lemon taste. Lothiriel cursed herself doubly, for didn't she know how essential fish and sunlight were to a good diet, and wasn't a lack of lemons and limes such a common seaman's curse.

"Make sure to get some peels if you can, and some sunlight, when the sun comes back in full. Not too much, mind you. But that is what I would tell you in any case," he said. "I suspect that the baby is quite all right. Common rosiness. He should fuss a bit and then be well." The Warden looked greatly cheered at such a happy pronouncement after so many hours of gloom, and hours yet to come of death.

After a few more minutes, and some words with the healers' assistants, Lothiriel was settled into the room with her baby and some fresh sheets. "We'll keep you here overnight. We have space enough. I'd like to see the little man in the morning and make sure he's improved." He sent a runner and forbore the coins, and then the Warden retired to a well-deserved rest, or, more probably, another night of sleepless attention.

Lothiriel slipped into bed, relishing the clean sheets all the more because she might have hung out these very sheets a dozen times, struggling at the line. Poor Cewin and Malath, they would probably be working straight through tonight. She felt too relieved to feel guilty. Lothiriel stroked her baby's soft head and watched him sleep, maybe more peacefully, since the tincture of lemon had been sucked away.

But after several hours, she was still not asleep. In the stillness of the night, she could hear restless moans clearly from the rooms beside hers, and they chilled her.

And then she heard a broken sobbing outside her door.

She scooped her sleeping son deftly into the bassinet, lest he learn to roll in the second or two that she saw what was amiss.

Lothiriel opened the door slowly, and a tall warrior spied her, and immediately stopped sobbing.

"Who goes there?" His voice was rough with tears. He looked taken aback. "You are not a healer, nor do you have a look of the Black Breath."

The man spoke Westron but had the blond hair of the Rohirrim. He looked as though he had shed their typical leathern and mail armor; he was wearing only a clean tunic and leggings, though he had both sword and dagger at his side.

"My son is ill," Lothiriel replied.

"I am sorry."

"The Warden thinks he will recover."

The man looked jealous, and Lothiriel added, "I am sorry that so many may not. We are deeply grateful to you and your kinsmen. Are you here with someone in particular?"

The man ran his hands through his hair, taking the motion as an excuse to swipe some tears from his eyes. "I am here with many of my men."

He must be a captain, then.

A man's frantic, hoarse wailing increased in the next room, and the man's shoulders drooped. "We disturb them. I take my leave of you, madam."

How like a man of war to turn away when hurting. "Please. Stay. Talk with me. My son is sleeping and I have need of news."

The man hesitated. "This is Gondor. Is it proper?"

Lothiriel stared at him in exasperation. She hadn't any distance to fall, after all. "My child is fatherless, and I do not mean just that his father fell in battle, though he did," she admitted the last with great pain. "I fear you not. Is it you who fears your reputation, for speaking with a mere washerwoman like me?"

The man raised his eyebrows in appreciation and stepped into the room with her, shutting the door softly. He settled his muscled bulk easily on the low bench. "I'll never understand that about Gondor," he said, and his Westron was quite good, excellent, even; far surpassing what Lothiriel would have expected from a warrior of Rohan. He peered over at the crib. "You're in such disgrace over a fine son like that?"

"I knew the risks," Lothiriel shrugged. "His father was a warrior of Gondor, and I could not let him ride to battle without knowing my love." Lothiriel stroked Ecthelion's belly. "Others may scorn me, but when I see my son, I am glad of him."

Lothiriel felt the man's eyes on her.

"We have a custom like that in the Mark," he said in an odd, low tone. "You would not have been disgraced there. You would have been thought blessed, to have borne a child."

Lothiriel thought she knew where this was heading. "Are you to battle again, soon? I have heard rumors..."

"We march on the Morannon at dawn," he breathed, looking steadily at her. "My lady..." There was a pleading note in his voice. Lothiriel thought of the horns she had heard, and of Gondor's salvation. Such a man need not plead with her.

Did he think her free with her favors? Well, so what if he did.

"I am still nursing," she said, amused. "It is not likely I shall conceive."

"That is, perhaps, well." He took a step towards her, the question in his eyes.

She unfastened the lace at the top of her borrowed dress, and simply slipped Malath's larger garment from her shoulders. The whole of it puddled on the floor; shirt and kirtle and all. The question was settled.

* * *

March 18 - Houses of Healing

The man left her well before dawn, saying he had his men to organize.

"And have you a sweetheart?" Lothiriel asked lightly. She did not care. It had been a good night.

"None," he said, surprising her. He kissed her quickly on the brow. "I thank you..."

"Niniel." Lothiriel liked the name. It reminded her of ninny; a common, soft, rather stupid word for a common, soft, rather stupid girl.

"Goodbye, Niniel." Lothiriel watched him leave, saying a quick prayer to the Valar. And then Ecthelion cried out, strong and demanding, and she turned gladly to her son.

* * *

A/N: Ecthelion has roseola or something similar, envisioned as a relatively minor illness with an alarming-looking rash. The Warden is not so much treating it as being indulgently proactive with mother/baby wellness.

This entire story spun out of a one-shot idea of Eomer and Lothiriel encountering each other, with neither knowing the other's identity. For funny stories in the vein of hidden identity, I would recommend Lialathuveril's "Imrahil's Daughters" and "The Abduction of Eomer, King of Rohan" and Lady Bluejay's "A Dream Come True."

For more Eomer/Lothiriel in general, stories by annafan, Thanwen, ZeesMuse, and other authors marked in my Favorite Stories have also certainly been inspirational and shaped my interest in this pairing. Also, some of them write lemons, if you were looking for that here!


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Elenluin, Wondereye, and annafan, thanks for reviewing! And yes, I was definitely thinking in the spirit of Thanwen's head-canon.

* * *

April - The Depressed Washerwoman

After the city had let out its collective breath with the Victory at the Morannon, it sucked up a new breath of life, thick as minnows. The city swarmed with soldiers. Malath did all of the provisioning, queuing up by the secondary storeroom on the fourth level to get an allotment of bread and cheese and occasionally some apples or roots. Cewin and Lothiriel were not to leave the yard at all. The girls therefore waited impatiently on Malath's crusts of bread and morsels of gossip.

Malath's tales were sweet with words of halflings and a great wizard, cloyed with tales of heroics, and spiced with news of the terrifying march on the Black Gates. Lothiriel's heart swelled with pride as she heard of her father's and brothers' victories, and deflated in the sorrow that she was no longer considered part of the family. A number of Rohirrim had fallen at the Black Gates, along with a number of Gondorians, but as Lothiriel did not know the warrior's name, she could hardly hope for news of him. But still, she hoped, just a little, to see him appear across the bridge, walking towards her. The girls clutched each other when the sky lit, and ran to greet the fresh breeze from the wings of the great eagle as it swooped over the city bearing its words of joy.

But Cewin wept into her tea and was silent at night, and every day as victory grew more familiar, her shoulders hunched and she seemed to grow smaller.

"Cewin..."

"Leave me be, Niniel."

"Do you fancy to fold? I can scrub."

"Not with those hands of yours. You'll go back for some lord, I'm sure, and we'd best keep you looking pretty. But at least you had loved yours," Cewin burst out. "I wish with all my heart that I had, mine."

Lothiriel looked at snappish Cewin, astonished. "You mean Osiric. He could be in the Houses of Healing. You should go, with Malath. Was that why you left that day? Were you afraid to find him?"

"He knows where I am. If he is alive, he will come. And if he is dead, then he has died, and he has died while I have done –all – of – this – washing!" Cewin upset the entire tub into the yard, weeping wretchedly, as Malath came out.

Malath looked at her and sighed. "Niniel, I will get Casma next door to wait with you. Cewin and I go to the Houses of Healing."

Cewin's sweetheart was not there, and the days were grim and long until one drizzling morning, when a knock sounded on the door. "Cewin?"

Cewin's face paled, and the apple fell from her fingers. And then, all of the sun the morning lacked shone from her face as she leapt to fling the door open. "Osiric! Osiric!" The stump of his arm, the crookedness of his back, and the twist in his leg did not matter to her. Her eyes, lovely in their brightness, were fixed on his face.

"I went to the Houses of Healing," Cewin murmured, fast against Osiric's chest. "You weren't there; I feared the worst."

"They had me in the mountains, dear heart, as soon as I could walk, helping the women and children back. Ever I looked for you." He whispered something into her hair, and Malath quietly drew Lothiriel away by the arm. "Best we go out, child."

The streets were crowded with people moving back in, stalls being set up, and everywhere, soldiers. Ecthelion followed the commotion with bright magpie eyes above the fabric of his sling. Lothiriel's heart caught in her throat as a small troop of Swan Knights walked up. They seemed to be stopping in every bar, but only briefly, not to drink.

"Something is up," Malath noted, following Lothiriel's eye. "Those are the good knights of Dol Amroth, who returned to us our Steward Faramir."

"Faramir! Not my Lord Denethor?" Lothiriel gasped, unsure if she had misheard.

"'Tis a sad tale, child. Come, let's line for bread, and I shall tell you of it."

That night, Lothiriel wept long and hard for Boromir anew. She wept for the Lord Denethor as well, for he had been kind to her in his own way. Lothiriel brought a skin of cheap wine home for the others, and then she did not have to disguise her tears, for Lord Boromir was well-beloved, and Lord Denethor well-respected. Malath raised a mug in a blubbering toast, and Cewin tried to explain tearfully to Osiric what a terrible shame it all was. Osiric held his sweetheart, mystified at how copiously she was weeping over a man she had in truth never met; but even he remembered the Captain General of the White City in a choked voice as a good man, and the finest leader he had ever known.

* * *

A/N: To add to last note's list, Maddy051280 wrote some lovely Eomer/Lothiriel stories that I also consider to be major inspiration for this work. I understand she has passed away, but oh her stories are marvelous.


	11. Chapter 11

April - The Restless Brothers

"That was quite the row that almost-was," Faramir remarked lightly.

Elphir grimaced and motioned to his squire to get his things ready. Erchirion was conversing shortly with one of his captains, and Amrothos was going over some ledger and marking it with great forceful punctuation.

"We're bound to do our duty, of course," the Dol Amroth heir remarked ruefully, "but I fear in this my Lord Father is mistaken. Surely one of us could be spared to visit Lothiriel." He dropped his voice. "Her letters to us were odd. Father noticed nothing amiss, for he does not often send or receive letters from her. Nor do I, to tell the truth, but my lady wife is concerned, and I trust her judgment in this. And Amrothos, he swears she must be under some great duress."

"Perhaps I do not see why Amrothos is so upset," Faramir offered in confusion, "for your father assigns him to the fleet at Dol Amroth. Can't he see your sister there?"

Amrothos flung down the ledger and joined the conversation. "'Dear my Lord Brother'!" he quoted incredulously. "What kind of water are they drinking in Lossarnach, that she addresses me like that?"

"To be fair, it could be that she must write through her maid," Elphir mused. "Her hand was injured, some mishap," he explained to Faramir. "Perhaps she feels the need to be more formal. But what were you saying, Faramir," he added with a frown. "About Dol Amroth?"

But Faramir had been listening to the conversation in growing confusion. "What do you mean, Lossarnach, cousin? Do you mean that Lothiriel is in Lossarnach, and not in Dol Amroth?"

The brothers looked at him in bewilderment. "Of course," Elphir responded. "Your father-" he looked at Faramir apologetically, but Faramir waved him off. He could grieve for his father, and Boromir, in his own time, privately. "Your father evacuated her to Lossarnach," Elphir continued.

"Are you saying she's not in Lossarnach?" Amrothos cut in.

"Quiet, let him speak." Erchirion had dismissed his man and was now frowning in concert with his brothers.

"We requested all men at the last," Faramir replied slowly, made slightly uneasy by the hedge of black eyebrows confronting him. "Lord Beren of Lossarnach reported with some cavalry. He heard from her maid that she remembered some tasks in the city, and then was going on to Dol Amroth."

"She is certainly not in Dol Amroth. Aunt Ivriniel would have told us, and the townsfolk know her on sight." Elphir pulled a rolled map from his belt. "Erchirion. Amrothos."

Faramir would never have guessed the unruly youngest prince could be pulled so easily in line by his eldest brother, but Amrothos snapped to attention.

"The both of you will ride to Lossarnach. Take Amrothos' company, or what is left of it. Erchirion, inform your man on the way down; I will take control of your company and mine, and search the city."

"But Father-"

"I will make our excuses to Father," Elphir said, forestalling the middle brother's protest. He nodded to Faramir. "By your leave, Captain?"

"I'd better come, too. Angborn!" Faramir's lieutenant came over. "Send Lieutenant Darien with the princes of Dol Amroth. They ride to Lossarnach, and he has family there."

The lieutenant nodded and hurried after Amrothos and Erchirion, as Faramir strode to catch up with Elphir, who was already nearly back to the tower.

"What good was it all, if we couldn't even keep our little sister safe?"

"I couldn't keep Boromir safe, and he wouldn't have wanted it." Grief made Faramir's words pointed, and Elphir looked ashamed.

"I am sorry. But if you'd had a sister..."

Faramir thought of the Lady Eowyn, and of her brother's concern over her. "We will find her."

* * *

April - Lossarnach Again

Henneth had been dreading this day every day for months. But today, when it came, when the door was thrown back violently on its hinges and the warriors stormed in, she stood her ground like a true daughter of Gondor.

She lifted her chin. "My lady is not in."*

* * *

April - Deception at Minas Tirith

Lothiriel studied the miniature dispassionately. She recognized this captain from Dol Amroth, of course, even though he was dressed in Gondorian livery. He was one of Elphir's men. But he didn't recognize her, without her paints and fine dress, and the miniature would not help him there. The only thing similar was the hair color, but her hair today was grey with soap scum from the boiling air.

"Who is it, Niniel?" Malath came over.

"A captain of the City. He seeks a lady. Here is her picture." Lothiriel did not bother to cover her breast, and Ecthelion sucking healthily on it. A washerwoman wouldn't care, and a captain of Swan Knights would not be embarrassed by a washerwoman. In fact, yes, the good captain was ogling her chest.

Malath looked at the portrait with a frown.

The miniature had been painted directly after Lothiriel's betrothal to Lord Boromir. The court painters had taken a few liberties. Lothiriel knew that the red rosebud lips, the porcelain pale skin, the carefully stenciled arched black eyebrows, and the elaborately braided crown of hair of this beauty – never mind the pretty turned-up nose and the long, patrician oval face with its pointed chin - would in no way call to mind the plain-faced apprentice washerwoman that Malath had taken in.

"No, I am sorry, we haven't seen her, good sir," Malath said.

The man bowed, disappointment in his features. "Good day to you, mistresses," he said. He waved to the men behind him, one of whom made a tick mark on some scroll, and they continued down the inlet to Casma's house.

* * *

A/N: *Like Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, but a little more polite...


	12. Chapter 12

May - Council of the Concerned

After Aragorn and Prince Imrahil had left with Stormcrow, Faramir rose to follow them. Elphir spoke quickly. "If you could stay a few minutes, Faramir, it would aid us, I'm sure."

The new Steward looked dubiously at the door, but Erchirion added, "Father will send if he needs you, have no fear of that."

"Or Mithrandir, for that matter," put in Amrothos. "Or King Elessar. There are no shrinking violets among the bunch."

Faramir took his seat again. "What's this about?"

"We haven't found Lothiriel yet."

Eomer had been thinking of taking his leave. The hour was late and the preparations for Aragorn's wedding ceremony, including several important conversations with elves for which Eomer wanted to be present, would begin early. At Erchirion's words, however, he remained in his seat. He owed Eowyn's life to Imrahil of Dol Amroth, who had found her on the Pelennor. If she were missing now, he would hope his friends stayed to listen and offer their advice.

"I had the men go door-to-door," Elphir reported. "They followed up all reports of dark-haired young women in the city. Of course," he sighed, "this is Gondor, so that is many women." He laid the miniature on the table in defeat.

"Why, that doesn't look anything like Lothiriel," Faramir exclaimed in surprise. "At least, not outside of a formal ball."

"So Erchi and I remarked," Amrothos said. "I distributed some sketches for round two, but honestly I haven't seen her much for years." He handed a folded piece of parchment to Faramir, who studied it and then handed it to Eomer.

The parchment was old with age and had been folded and unfolded several times. On it was a charcoal drawing of a girl. Some of the lines were smudged, but he could see clearly the dark, serious eyebrows, and the quirked lips rather like Amrothos'. It looked to have been drawn in family quarters, with the Princess lounging by a sea-window, her hair in two long plaits.

"Her lady's maid was found in Lossarnach, but she never arrived," Elphir explained to Eomer, who was the least familiar with the events.

"Had she reason to dislike the place?" Eomer asked thoughtfully, looking at the girl's face and thinking of Eowyn speaking tightly about Wormtongue. He fought back a shudder at how close all matters had come.

"I can't see why," Erchirion answered. "We all knew of Lord Forlong, but she had never been there. He has two daughters just a few years younger than she, and they would have been built-in attendants."

"I wonder why our fathers didn't just send her back to Dol Amroth," Faramir mused.

"Yes," Eomer agreed. "Surely her own home would have felt more comfortable. Forlong's girls could have been sent to keep her company, even."

Amrothos looked at him in surprise. "I wonder if Father thought of that."

Elphir and Erchirion exchanged glances. "Actually, there was another matter," Elphir said slowly. "Lothiriel was expecting."

Amrothos' jaw dropped, and Faramir's eyebrows rose as his gaze sharpened.

Eomer tapped the table. "Expecting what? Expecting the evacuation?"

"Expecting a baby," Amrothos enlightened him with a small shove.

"We were sorry to keep the news from you," Elphir said to Faramir in a low tone. "Father had asked us not to mention it, but obviously we should have mentioned it to you."

"And to me," Amrothos said, looking insulted.

Eomer glanced around the table. That hadn't answered his question at all. The three brothers were wearing similar looks of resignation. Faramir had his mouth pinched tightly shut. "I still don't understand. Isn't that all the more reason to send her home?"

"It's, ah, considered a bit of a disgrace here," Amrothos said delicately. "Forlong's estate is quite out of the way and would have been more private." His eyes slid in Faramir's direction. "We would take up Lothiriel's honor with you, I suppose, except that we're all friends."

"Thank you," Faramir murmured.

Eomer sat up straight. Eowyn might be spending quite a lot of time Gondor from now on, and he wanted to get some facts straight. "It's a disgrace because the Princess was known to sleep with many men," he tried out, to see if that were the explanation.

Elphir purpled up almost immediately, and Faramir held up a hand. "Peace. Of course not," Faramir said to Eomer sharply. "Cousin Lothiriel was the embodiment of virtue, and besides which, neither my father nor my uncle would have tolerated that sort of behavior from her."

"I apologize. All right," Eomer tried again, "it's a disgrace because Boromir was twice her age and taking advantage of her."

Now it was Faramir's turn to look insulted, and Amrothos chuffed lightly. "Eomer, you said you knew Boromir. Does that sound like him?"

"Well, no," Eomer admitted. "It does not. I am sorry, Faramir. But I am trying to see. Ah," he gave one more pass at the explanation quintain. "It is a disgrace because one or both of them was promised or wed to another."

"No, they were engaged to each other." Erchirion sighed and tipped his chair back. "It's a disgrace because poor Boromir didn't get back in time to marry her, that's all."

Eomer looked between the Gondorians, dumbfounded. "You jokers mean to tell me that your engaged sister slept with her husband to be, conceived a child, and was going to be sent away in disgrace?" He knew he was pushing the issue, partly because he thought it was absurd, and partly for his sister's benefit. Eomer himself liked the acting Steward, and knew the man was no fool. It was better to challenge him here and let him be forewarned, than for him to clash with Eowyn's views later.

"Yes," Faramir said. "Eomer, you know that customs are different in Gondor."

Eomer snorted. "I heard from a common woman the same tale. She slept with her lover on the eve of battle, got with child, and is now disgraced. It is an _honor_ in the Mark, but here it is a disgrace! And yet we are the barbarians!"

The Gondorians broke out at once.

"Hold on, Eomer. We've never called you barbarians. You, maybe, but not your people."

"This is Gondor, not the Mark."

"Every society has its rules," Faramir offered placatingly.

It was Amrothos' comment, though, that hung in the air. "Woah, there, horse lord. Quite an intimate chat to be having with a common woman, wasn't it?"

Eomer growled at the youngest prince's perversion of a much-enjoyed night. He knew the barb was crafted of the prince's own hurt, but it stung all the more because it struck him suddenly that this was Gondor, and to the Gondorian mind, he had treated that woman like a whore - or worse than a whore, since he hadn't even paid her! Guilt settled heavily on him, and made him fire back, "Well, what did you expect from your sister, then! She knew very well she and her child weren't getting a warm welcome from you lot, so of course she ran away."

Elphir visibly flinched, and a muscle in Faramir's jaw jumped. Amrothos pushed away from the table, and even Erchirion's brows had drawn together, but before anyone lost their temper completely, Elphir snapped out, "Father planned that the child should taken in by my lady wife and myself. He - or she - will have every comfort available."

Eomer looked at Elphir incredulously. It was a good thing for foreign relations that words failed him just then.

"Eomer, I'm sorry this talk offends you," Erchirion said, "but really I think we would like to find Lothiriel and her child first. Perhaps you can talk with Father later. I know he values your opinions, and perhaps a fresh perspective would be helpful to him."

Eomer nodded. "My temper got away from me," he admitted. "How can I help?"


	13. Chapter 13

May - The Honor of a Washerwoman

Eomer left the meeting feeling wretched. Gondorians were so serious about propriety, and he had behaved rather badly. He felt terribly for his friends, too, and he hoped they found their sister soon. He would be frantic about Eowyn, in their places. He had made several suggestions based on his experiences with a headstrong sister, but very few of his men were in a condition to be spared for searching through the city on foot, or had the language ability to help.

The Royal Guard fell into place as he left the meeting room, and they walked out of the Palace and down towards the Fifth-level, the highest level with a stable.

"Stone in your hoof?" Eothain took a step forward, bringing himself in line with his king. He whispered, although the other guards were well forward and backward.

Eomer mulled over how much to tell the captain of his guard, then promptly gave up on pretense. "There was a woman here-"

"What! When?!" Eothain had had Eomer on a tight watch. "You must have sneaked her in."

"Before the Morannon. In the Houses of Healing."

Eothain let his breath out between his teeth. "Trust you to find a woman, even there! So that's what took you till morning. And here we thought you were watching Eowyn."

"I was, for many hours," Eomer said in his defense, blushing with shame.

"I believe you," Eothain said quietly, his teasing immediately gone. "Go on, then, about the woman."

"Well, we - you know."

"You lucky sod."

Eomer resisted the urge to preen.

"So what's the problem?"

"The problem is that it's not like back home. The women here, they are serious."

"Was she serious? Did she want to know your name?" Eothain thought for a moment. "Did she know you were newly king, ask you for gifts?"

"No...but I feel I haven't treated her right. Because here, were anyone to know...there is no such thing here as just a tumble."

"I think there are many women here who understand about tumbles."

"Not respectable women." Eomer wetted his lips. "I have a mind to ask her to Edoras."

"You can't!" Eothain looked so horrified that the guards stopped, but he waved them to keep going, as he clamped a hand on his sovereign's elbow. "Have you gone out of your mind?"

"Aldburg, then. She is a washerwoman and no whore. She was being kind. She has a babe, a son, but was never married."

"Eomer, king, you have a good heart, but you cannot possibly invite all the women of Mundberg who slept with any of the men, however kind they were, back to the Mark."

"She didn't sleep with any of the men, she slept with me."

"That is even worse! She will know you are king! She will think it means - " Eothain's eyes grew round. "Surely you don't mean to make her queen!"

"No, of course not," Eomer growled. "I just don't want her to keep living a life of shame here, especially when I, myself, have added to that shame!"

"Tell me she's not with child."

"I don't know. I have not seen her since. She said it was not likely."

"Then how have you added to her shame?"

"I have been trying to explain! Here, it is a shame just to lie with a man outside of marriage, even willing and widowed."

Eothain thought of some of the stories that Prince Amrothos had told him, but he did not repeat them to his king. Instead, he sighed. If Eomer had gotten this idea into his head, he was going to worry it like a saddle bur and ride it all the way through Eothain's skin on the way back home. It was time to see if Eomer's plan was workable. "Do you really think she will have an easier time of it in the Mark?"

"A good washerwoman is always welcome. She would not need much."

"Would the other women take to her? I am sure they would think her some Gondorian whore."

Eomer paused. "I had not thought about that."

Eothain only grunted in reply.

Eomer was quiet for a while. "I think you are right - I cannot let her know that it was me, and that I am king. Doing so would cause problems." Eothain nodded uneasily, knowing that such docile agreement was sure to mark some unpleasantness ahead. He knew he was right when Eomer broke into a huge smile. "Instead, you will tell her."


	14. Chapter 14

May - The Puzzle at the Cottage

Two fair-haired men appeared across the bridge, and Lothiriel and Malath stared. Lothiriel's heart leapt for a second, but neither man recalled that warrior in the Houses of Healing. She did think she could place one of them, though.

"Good day," she said uncertainly. "Have we met? I am sure I have seen you before." She nodded to the more heavily bearded man with rather more strawberry blonde hair than golden. A livid scar ran down the man's head, bisecting his lips painfully and continuing down, she thought, past his mail shirt. His head had been in bandages and he had been wearing little more than a borrowed Gondorian tabard and some leggings. Now he was in the green cloak of a Rider of Rohan and looking much more comfortable and fit.

Her Westron was being translated into their guttural tongue by the other man. The other man was a fairer-haired and somewhat younger looking soldier, whose braid-trimmed cloak suggested a higher rank. Before the younger man could finish speaking, however, the older man was nodding and smiling at the washerwomen. He said something that neither woman could understand, but they smiled and nodded back anyway.

"You are the washerwoman Niniel?" The fair-haired man's Westron was accented but clear.

"I am she." Lothiriel glanced quickly at Malath, who looked at the men suspiciously.

The man looked sort of pained. He looked at Malath and seemed to come to some sort of calculation. "And your name is?"

"I am Malath," Malath said stoutly. "And as for you, good sir, may I ask who you are? Him, I marked already, much obliged," she said. To Lothiriel's startled disbelief, she batted her sparse eyelashes at the older guard, who gave her both a leer and a smirk!

"Yes, this is Ceorl, who says he guarded the wash site a few months ago. I am Hleofic. We were sent by Eothain, Captain of the King's Guard."

Malath looked impressed, and Lothiriel's eyebrows went up.

"I was sent to find you," the man said, his eyes flicking between them. "Eomer King is impressed that you stayed to wash during the war. Moreso, you handled our cloaks well. The wool is difficult to handle, and they are important to us. The repairs were well-done, and I am told they were in your care."

"Ah, well, bless Cewin and her elbows," Malath said, red with the praise. "She'd be here if she could, but she's gone up in the circles to work at a boarding house while her husband works at a hostlery," she babbled. "And the stitching was from Niniel, such a good girl."

The man nodded. "Eomer King thanks you for your service, and moreover, this young lady has endeared herself to a Rider of the Mark, who wished in his dying to give you this." He reached behind him in the saddle and came out with a folded, stinking pile of wool, on top of which rested some sort of keepsake wooden medallion with a horse on it.

Beside him, Ceorl started visibly.

"You may present this mark at Aldburg and claim what the Rider has left behind."

Lothiriel made a polite curtsey as she accepted the bundle, her heart beating quickly. "We are deeply grateful to all of the people of Rohan. Please convey our appreciation to your king."

The man nodded awkwardly and the two left, and as soon as they crossed the bridge, Lothiriel could hear faint snatches of fast Rohirric.

She did not care. She had a new reason to grieve; she knew what these marks were. Gondorian soldiers wore something similar. It was one thing to think never to see that warrior again, and another completely to know him dead.

"That is a horserider's cloak," Malath said, pinning Lothiriel to the line with a look like a great pointy clothespin.

Lothiriel stood in indecision, unwilling to lie to Malath.

"Oh, Niniel." Malath shook her head. "Did you really move from your unfaithful lord to a horselord? Have you no self-respect?"

Lothiriel's face flamed. "My lord was not unfaithful." _At least, I don't think he was_ , she added in her mind. "Anyway, it was the night Echthelion was sick. The man was sitting with his kin, who were stricken with the Black Breath. He was to march out to die on the Morannon the next morning." She faced Malath with a defiant glare of her own. "Tell me I did wrong, Malath. Tell me it was so wrong to comfort him, when he would fall within a sennight."

Malath let out her breath. "Noooo...I suppose I cannot say it was wrong. But, Niniel, it can cause such complications, these liaisons with men!"

"I think I well know. But he was clean, and I was not likely to have a babe while nursing."

Malath pursed her lips. "I've known it to happen a time or two."

"Malath!"

"Oh, child. Well, at least you know he was thinking of you. Take heart, and your one night." Malath's eyes were sympathetic. "You go fix us something for supper, and I'll finish the hanging up. And I will - wash that." She took the cloak and stroked it gently, filthy though it was. Both women pretended not to see the great jagged tears in it.

Lothiriel took the order gratefully, and spent her time alone crying confused tears over Ecthelion's downy soft head, turning the wooden disk over in her hands.

* * *

May - Some Honest Confusion

"Hleofic," Ceorl, son of Astafar, said, mightily confused, "Fanbern was the most mean-eyed, cross-tongued, set-in-his-ways bachelor that ever lived, he was older than the sum of those two women's ages together, and besides which he fancied men. What possessed him to swive that bitty little thing, never mind promise her his mark? And how did Eomer King hear of it?"

"Eothain said that Eomer King was in the Houses of Healing when Fanbern died. He heard the man's last words," Hleofic replied. Knowing Fanbern also, Hleofic supposed that Eothain had just left out the part that the last words were likely to have been mostly a collection of swearwords and a rattling gasp. "And we well know that war makes a man do strange things."

Eothain, meanwhile, hoped the gods looked kindly on his scheme. His king had authorized him to whatever means, and he had thought old Fanbern to be a good choice. The man had nothing to his name but his soldier's back pay, not even a horse, for Myrkfot had been flattened by a mumak. And, as Fanbern had no living relatives, this pay was now reverted back to the king to disburse as he saw fit. The old soldier was being much more accommodating in death than he had usually been in life.

"None of the wars before made him do as strange as that," Ceorl retorted, but then he shrugged. "Perhaps it was the dark hair. That's a bit special, come to think. That lovely large woman's got mountains of it." He darted a glance at the other man. "She smiled at me. Did you see that?"

* * *

A/N: Yes, so Eothain totally passed the ball on the "you tell them!" part. But he has a good excuse - he is guarding Eomer nearly 24/7. That is probably the harder job.


	15. Chapter 15

May - Escape from Minas Tirith

Cewin flew in the door, shutting it hastily. She skidded to a stop in front of the table, where Malath and Lothiriel looked up questioningly.

"Did you like the sausages?" Lothiriel asked. "Did you get them? I left them with Swithic, and he didn't seem the type to eat them all himself."

"Yes, they were marvelous," Cewin panted, "but that's not why I came!"

She reached around the table and clutched at Lothiriel's hands. "Your Lord has come back for you!" she exclaimed.

Lothiriel gasped, and for a second her traitorous heart flashed a glimpse of fair, not dark, hair. "What do you mean, he's come back?"

"He is looking for you!"

"How- how did you come to hear of this?"

"I heard them talking. He said you had to be one of the three; that he would look in at the Houses of Healing, and then at the Gold Front Door, and then at the washerwomen's. He's just started off for the Door; I'm sure you could catch him there. Oh, Niniel," she babbled. "I didn't know he was so handsome!"

"Yes," Lothiriel said uncertainly.

"He has hair as fine and glossy as yours is when you bathe, and such large dark eyes."

If Boromir wasn't returning, then the lord who had cast Lothiriel off from being his mistress didn't and couldn't exist. And anyway, Lord Boromir did not have large dark eyes, and neither did Cousin Faramir. In fact, the man sounded like - "

" _Amrothos._ "

"Yes, that was his name. You do not want to see him?" Cewin faltered, seeing Lothiriel turn white.

"No," Lothiriel whispered. "He is...a relative, and he must not learn of my disgrace."

Lothiriel dropped Cewin's hands. She strode over and snatched the "sugar" jar from the shelf. "Ecthelion and I are going to Rohan."

"Rohan!" Cewin exclaimed.

"She met a captain of Rohan, and he died, leaving all he had to her," Malath explained efficiently.

Cewin opened and closed her mouth a few times. "Well," she said faintly, "all right. But Niniel, if that man is a relative, he could tell your family..."

Lothiriel stopped knotting the kerchief. It wasn't like Cewin to ever be hesitant. She looked to Malath for an opinion as well.

"I do not question your choice. It is difficult to be a woman of no reputation." Was Lothiriel seeing a flash of bitterness in the good-humored brown eyes? "But your family will be so very worried. They will give us no peace."

"I cannot leave the city. Osiric can't travel," Cewin said, "but you must go with her, Malath. They can't bother you if you're not here. And I can tell them Niniel is well."

"No, I must go alone, Malath," Lothiriel insisted. "I will not have you flee your life and comforts."

Cewin looked at Lothiriel with astonished stupefaction. "I've never heard anything so idiotic in my life."

Malath didn't bother to be derisive. "That Eomer King of Rohan said he liked the way we washed those cloaks, but you're still no washerwoman, girl. The best you can do is fine stitching and some fancy folding. You'll need a pair of stout arms with you. But what about your family, girl?"

"I'll leave a letter," Lothiriel decided. "I will write to Henneth too. Dear Henneth, I hope she is all right."

Malath glanced at Cewin. "Do we have until morning?"

"No, I don't think so."

"I'm out to shop, then. Mind you don't feed the babe any cheese, girls. He ought get naught but mother's milk for a few months, yet."

* * *

May - The Quiet House

For her service to the Princess of Dol Amroth, Cewin, and Malath in absentia, were now reasonably wealthy women. Relative, hah! Try brother and sister. Cewin took the bulk of the money up to the counting house. To her surprise, the young prince of Dol Amroth had come nearly alone, with just a few men and an old lady, dressed as a lady's maid.

The handsome prince had been thunderstruck upon being presented with a nearly-empty cottage, a letter, and Cewin. Fortunately for Cewin's curiosity, she had looked over the young lord's shoulder several times and annoyed a narration out of him, so Cewin knew what the letter said. Clearly Lady Lothiriel had not really been expecting Malath to go with her.

 _My dear Amrot,_

 _I beg your forgiveness, and that of Ada and my house. I am sorry to miss seeing you, but for reasons that I cannot say, it is far better that I should leave._

 _Cewin and Malath have been nothing but kind to me, though I have not deserved it. It would be a token to the generosity of the house of Dol Amroth if all of my goods in the City are either sold or given over to them, as they see fit._

 _Please kiss Erchi and Elphir and Father fondly for me._

 _With love,_

 _Lothiriel_

 _My dear Henneth,_

 _I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your stalwart service. I beg you on my mother's memory to not think too harshly of me, as I do what I think is best for all of us. You will know why I cannot stay, when all would be so uncertain._

 _With love,_

 _Lothiriel_

"Kiss Erchi!" the prince sputtered. "How like her." He turned to Cewin. "Do you know where she went?"

"She did not tell me, my lord." Lothiriel hadn't really said, not exactly. Rohan was quite a large country, if Cewin understood correctly.

"My lord prince," the old woman put in, wiping her eyes on a corner of her apron, "Do you think your Lord Father ought to be informed?"

"Yes, of course, Henneth." Amrothos nodded to Cewin. "I will be back."

He raced out, but Henneth stayed behind. "The babe," she whispered to Cewin. "He is well?"

Cewin nodded. "Ecthelion. He is nigh on three months, I suppose, and healthy as can be."

Henneth's face cleared. "You helped her?"

"It was mostly Malath."

"You are a good girl," Henneth said, briefly clasping one of Cewin's hands in both of hers, and then left.

Cewin did not take up the offer of the Lady Lothiriel's things. She did not want to sort through Lady Lothiriel's dresses as though the girl were dead. And, how was she to know which of the silver trinkets were the princess' favorites? No, she left that all to Henneth. But she did accept a tidy sum of money for both herself and Malath. Fair was fair, and after all, Niniel knew that Cewin and Osiric had been wanting a townhouse.

But to think she'd scolded a princess at the clothes-wringer!

* * *

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! Up next - Rohan!


	16. Chapter 16

June - Aldburg

Althwyn stared at the dark-haired young woman. "Fanbern," she repeated, turning the mark over. Of course she recognized Fanbern's mark, as he'd been up regularly to cuss and spit and receive his pay. "Fanbern?" she repeated incredulously.

The young woman fidgeted and said something in beautiful, flowing, but unfortunately for Althwyn, unintelligible Westron.

"Althwyn, what's the problem?"

"Berca, this woman comes with Fanbern's mark. He must have given it to her."

Berca dredged up her unwilling Westron. "You are Fanbern's woman?" she addressed the younger of the two unbelievingly.

The woman nodded slowly. Berca grabbed the mark from Althwyn's hand and turned it around to see for herself. Sure enough, it was Fanbern's.

A wail sounded from behind the young woman's back, on the sad donkey cart, and Berca nearly dropped the medallion. "A baby!" She started counting on her fingers. Hadn't Fanbern gone to the border of Mundberg the year before? There hadn't been anything to keep him at Aldburg. He had often gone on the long patrols. "Fanbern had a baby!" She and Althwyn shared a horrified look. " _Fanbern_ had a baby?" But then - wait - this baby did not look much like Fanbern at all...

The heavyset woman next to the younger one was beginning to look impatient. Berca pressed her lips into a line. "I will show you where the cottage is. Have you a trade?"

The young woman tapped the older one, who turned to show what was clearly some Gondorian scrubbing board, and the younger woman started miming scrubbing.

"Oh. Washerwomen." Berca looked at the two of them, considering. "Yes, I think I know just where to put you."

* * *

August - Aldburg

Lothiriel grew used to the incredulous looks directed her way, but fortunately they were no more than that - incredulous. Many women came to look at little Ecthelion, marveling at him with wide eyes as though they'd never seen a baby before, though there were plenty of children of all ages in Aldburg, and therefore plenty of laundry. Perhaps it was his tufty dark hair that was so attractive.

Washers and menders were welcome, and Malath and Lothiriel had no shortage of linens to wash. There were laundry maids here in Rohan as well, although they did other work, too, and on the whole the enterprise was not quite as rigidly organized as it had been in Minas Tirith. Since they did not room and board in Aldburg, Malath and Lothiriel were paid mostly in food and sometimes with a good bit of cloth. They started a small garden, and would have some gourds in the fall, if nothing else.

It was a hard life and would get harder. The winter, they heard, would be much colder than that in Gondor. The spring planting had been almost nonexistent in some parts and the water had been fouled. Men were dredging some of the rivers, trying to clear them of bodies and the debris of Isengard. But the people were optimistic. The word was that Eomer King and the King of Gondor had come to several agreements. The price that the Rohirrim had paid in blood would be repaid by Gondor in foodstuffs.

There were plenty of teenage girls around willing to spoil Ecthelion, and he would indeed learn to ride a pony - someone else's pony - before he could walk. Simon the Gondorian donkey was considered rather beneath riding, even for a baby. Most of the women were friendly, and as Malath's and Lothiriel's command of Rohirric grew, Lothiriel began to ask hesitantly about the man she had known so briefly. The most she ever got were some choked comments about how he had been a good soldier. It seemed that the Rohirrim could be reticent about some things, if they chose.

One subject they were certainly not reticent about was the upcoming wedding of Lady Eowyn to Lord Faramir. Women constantly wanted to know about this Captain of Rangers who had caught their king's sister's eye. What was a ranger, anyway? They'd heard he was shorter than Eomer King - was he shorter also than his bride? Was he known to be gentle, or would he keep the Lady Eowyn in a firm hand? The consensus was divided on whether the former or the latter was preferable; some women thought the Lady Eowyn brave and daring; others thought her headstrong and mercurial. Lothiriel answered as best she could. Occasionally even Berca would stop her on her trips up to the hall at Aldburg and ask a question or two about Gondor.

To Lothiriel's surprise, even Berca said one day, "Niniel, Eowyn King's-sister thanks you for your answers about Gondor."

"Does she?" Lothiriel paused and searched through her Rohirric; she could understand more than she could speak. "I do not think I know her."

" I told her we had a Gondorian living here, so she gave me questions to ask of you. Anyway, she would come herself and say it, but she has so much to do up at Meduseld."

"Yes, of course. I am happy to answer questions."

The hierarchical structure in Rohan was flatter than it was in Gondor, and Eowyn King's-sister sent a set of lovely warm beaver-skin hoods to her helpful Gondorian. Lothiriel modeled them on Malath, herself, and Ecthelion, and the neighbors nodded and winked. "You'll need them."

* * *

A/N: There were many paths the story could have taken from Lothiriel and Malath's arrival in Rohan, and I spent years thinking up loose ends and dead ends. There were some paths I found too sad to keep, like the ones where Lothiriel returns to her family, but without Ecthelion. The following chapters were the most coherent of the remaining stories.


	17. Chapter 17

A Rider's Cloak

Lothiriel drew out the thick wool and choked back tears. She threaded her needle and began mending the great ugly rents slowly.

"I hate to use it, but we must. It's cold," she murmured, more to herself than to Malath.

"He'd have wanted you to use it," Malath said stoutly.

A sharp knock was the only warning before two women came through the door from the swirling snow. "Here are some blankets," Althwyn began, stepping neatly around the familiar layout. "Berca, set them here by the ta- huh!"

Both women gasped, and then Berca shut the door crisply. "How could you!" she hissed quietly, mindful of the sleeping boy.

Lothiriel stood hastily, tripping a little over the bench. "Am I - am I not allowed to sew it?" She yanked the offending needle from the thread and stuck it in the pincushion.

"Sew it? How could you take it! How could you steal-"

"Berca!"

"A Rider's cloak!" She made as if to lunge for it.

"Berca!" Althwyn insisted again, tugging on her sleeve. "Let it go!"

"Wait." Now Lothiriel was angry. "Steal," she said, rolling the Rohiiric word around. She hadn't heard it much - steal a nap, steal some oats - "That is what you said, isn't it? Steal."

Malath looked back and forth, hampered in her understanding, but she was getting the gist of the conversation, and frowned.

"It's - it's - "Althwyn looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Niniel, but your story - I mean, you're not the only Gondorian to settle in the Riddermark - and we know - I mean, there were a lot of marks, and many single Riders. And you have a baby, after all, no one -" she frowned at Berca, who was fuming silently. "No one really blamed you for taking your chances where you could." The girl bit her lip. "But, Niniel, to take his cloak, too..."

Lothiriel's mouth dropped open. "You think it, too? You think I stole his mark? You think I stole his cloak?"

Althwyn toed the soot around the hearth with the tip of her boot. "Well, a mark isn't given for less than - it's like marriage, you see, like you would be his wife, and..." her nerve failed. "I-just-don't-see-how-that-could-be-the-case."

"Like his wife - are you asking did I sleep with him? I did, so there."

Althwyn's eyes widenened, and she cut a glance at Berca.

Berca was staring at Lothiriel. "You really did?"

Lothiriel nodded, and her mouth started trembling again without her permission. "I don't see why it's so difficult to understand. I didn't know him well, of course not, but they were all so brave, your Rohirric men, and I could do that for him."

Berca's cheeks flushed. "I'm so sorry, Niniel. I am very sorry." Berca looked at Lothiriel's red eyes. "You were crying for him?"

Lothiriel nodded again.

Berca blinked a few times, very quickly, and it occurred to Lothiriel that she also did not know anything about Berca. Her suspicions were confirmed when Althwyn squeezed the older woman's arm in sympathy.

"Tell more," Berca prompted, with uncharacteristic unsteadiness.

"It was the night before the march to the Black Gate - Morannon. He was talking about his men, and he looked so sad, and," Lothiriel rubbed the wool lightly, "I never saw him again. Ceorl was the one who gave me the cloak, and the mark."

But Berca's eyes had come up suspiciously again. "He was talking about his men?" she asked slowly.

Lothiriel glanced at Althwyn and saw a thin frown line on her brow.

"Yes...how he hated to see them dying and in pain."

"His men, he said? As in, his command? Soldiers he commanded?"

"He was a captain, I think. He behaved like one."

"Was it his brown hair that you fell for?"

"What? No. He had blonde hair, like you all do - wait. You still don't believe me?"

Berca opened her mouth as if about to say something more, but then pursed her lips shut. She shook her head. "I believe you," she said slowly. "I was just teasing. Making a joke. Anyway, we brought you some blankets. You're free to mend the cloak, but you can put it away. It will be Ecthelion's when he is older, I think, if the wool keeps that long."

* * *

April - Spring Returns to Aldburg

Lothiriel and Malath survived their first winter in the Riddermark by the skin of their teeth and the goodwill of their neighbors. Lothiriel had been called upon to do some very fancy needlework that she was sure no one really needed, in exchange for baskets of dried apples, preserves, dried meats, and the like. At first, the two Gondorian women were mystified by the smelly dried blocks they received, but they quickly learned that dried horse manure was a great fuel in a land of plains.

Malath put on her enduring face, but Lothiriel found a bracing challenge in the sharp winter air, like looking into the wind from the Prow of Minas Tirith. She rationed their dried apricots, trying to stave off scurvy, and hoped that none of them fell ill. To her surprise, Ecthelion loved the snow. He loved simply to be set down in a snow drift to roll and fall about, though Lothiriel and Malath worried about him constantly.

Then there were those days that everyone huddled inside while the wind whipped across the frozen flatlands; days so cold, it was said, that to linger on the way to the privy would cost one a nose. Lothiriel did not test the notion. Those were trying days, where Ecthelion wailed and threw himself around against the walls and jumped up and down in place. Before the largest storms, many like them who lived in scattered outbuildings were called into Aldburg or the nearest garrison, where they huddled around fires in repurposed barracks and were bossed around by Berca and her type.

Finally, one day, the sun broke sweetly through the clouds, exchanging its dim, cold aloofness for a golden glow.

"You've made it through your first winter!" Althwyn's embrace was quick but warm. The two red patches on her cheeks showed in contrast to her pale hair and she helped Lothiriel with the baskets up to the hall of Aldburg.

Ecthelion tried to reach around Lothiriel's shoulders to get at the baskets and their invitingly clean linens. Althwyn bussed Ecthelion soundly on the cheek, and then was loudly hailed.

"Althwyn! A messenger from Mundberg. Ready a cup. I am sure he rides to Meduseld, but he should stop in for a bit. Rollic, check that the stable has a courier horse ready."

Lothiriel had the baskets already sorted, but she toyed with them a bit, refolding some of the items. Althwyn caught on to her ruse, and sat the messenger near Lothiriel with a cup of warm mead, then plucked an eager Ecthelion out of his sling and away.

"If I may, sir, is there any news from Gondor which you might share?"

"I thought you might be from Gondor," the courier said, sipping his mead gratefully. "'Tis a relief to speak in Westron a bit, though I suppose I ought to practice my Rohirric before I get to the Hall. Let's see; besides the messages for Eomer King, hmm...well, our Lord Faramir and the White Lady Eowyn are to be married; of course you would know that. It will be quite the celebration. A number of nobles are coming..." he took in her coloring unconsciously as he searched for something to say. "All three Princes of Dol Amroth will be arriving shortly. Miss?"

The shirt fell clear from Lothiriel's hands. "When will they be here?" she stammered, picking the shirt back up and setting it in the basket unfolded.

"Ah. From Belfalas yourself, perhaps?" The messenger winked at her. "I'd say a week or two." He drained his mug and smiled. All the ladies liked looking at the three handsome princes, even if the eldest was married. "I should be getting on."

"Yes, of course," Lothiriel said automatically. " Thank you for speaking with me." The messenger left, and Lothiriel collected Ecthelion back from Althwyn in a daze. _Amrothos, Erchirion, Elphir. Father._


	18. Chapter 18

We've searched everywhere - April - Edoras

 _"To Eomer, King of Rohan...can only presume that my daughter has passed away...will make the formal announcement...several eligible young women...grieves me deeply...Signed Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth."_

Eomer had taken one look at Amrothos before him and burnt the letter in silent sympathy. Amrothos eyed the cold ashes in the grate viciously, but the words remained in his head.

"Get up, Amrot." Erchirion prodded his younger brother with a large hand.

Lank curls stirred but did not rise from the table. "Can't," he moaned. "Nothing to wear anyway."

"We had them washed," Elphir snapped at his youngest brother. "Get up." He tossed a tunic onto the table beside his brother's head. "Imagine your men seeing you like this, you drunken sot."

Amrothos sat up abruptly, brushing the hair out of his face and sitting up straight. He pulled on his tunic, back straight and lips tight. "I make sure they don't," he said stiffly.

Erchirion's bushy eyebrows came together at his older brother silently. Elphir huffed out of the room. "Lift your arms. I'll help you with the sash," Erchirion coaxed. "Eomer will be in shortly."

Amrothos dragged himself upright. He toyed with a glass swan figurine.

"That was Lothiriel's, wasn't it," Erchirion said. It wasn't a question.

"It was." Amrothos got up heavily. "Let's go."

Amrothos and Erchirion listened silently to the small talk until it turned, as it often did, to Lothiriel.

"We've searched everywhere," Elphir conceded with a sigh.

"I doubt it," Faramir's bride spoke up.

The three brothers eyed her in surprise. "Faramir?"

Faramir's eyes twinkled. "I don't recall saying anything. Address her yourselves."

"Princess Eowyn - "

"Is it like this all the time?" Eowyn exclaimed in amazement, looking to Eomer. Her brother shrugged. "Anyway, what I wanted to say was, I'm sure you searched all of Gondor, but have you searched the Riddermark? Or even, farther west?"

The silence was deafening.

"Surely she couldn't have gone that far."

Eowyn looked at Erchirion in disgust. "You say that because she is a woman. Did I not go to Gondor, when I was born in the Riddermark?"

"That's different. You're the slayer of Angmar the Witch King."

"Don't I have the same - "

Eomer jabbed her lightly with his elbow before she could be vulgar. He cleared his throat. "Let's start with the Riddermark. That will be easy enough. We'll speak to one man in each of the new garrisons."

* * *

Found - April - Aldburg

Lothiriel held the sash with trembling hands. "Who did you say this was from, Malath?"

"One of the Swan Knights from Dol Amroth, is what Berca said to me. He said he had heard there was a Gondorian here, good at embroidery, and he fancied a fourth swan-ship on it. Can you do it?"

"Yes, I think so." The motif was an uncommon one, with a peculiar type of split-stitch known to the southern peninsula. Lothiriel had of course learned it early on and practiced it for hours. What Malath did not know was that the motif was a royal one. This sash was not that of merely a Swan Knight, but of one of her brothers; it was Erchirion's, for the middle ship had a golden flag. The castle on the hill stood for the lord of Dol Amroth. Neither she nor her mother had a symbol, though perhaps someone poetic could say her lady mother was the green grass of the slope, and she the flowers dotting it. Lothiriel had complained loudly about their absence in the motif, to her brothers' irritation.

It would seem that her brothers had found her, and moreover that at least one of them, probably Erchirion, had remembered her childhood complaints. Lothiriel embroidered a fourth ship in gold thread, and trailing close beside it she added a fine small cutter of the sort she had seen in the Minas Tirith harbors. Perhaps her brothers would understand about Ecthelion.


	19. Chapter 19

May - Dol Amroth - Report

Elphir turned the sash over and over. "She hasn't wed; that's not what the contacts say."

"Well, they don't say much, now, do they," Amrothos huffed.

"They are loyal," shrugged Erchirion. "Of course they are reticent. They see her as a Rohir by now. It's a good sight I look like her, to give credence to the family story."

"We _are_ family."

"They aren't to know that. But back to the point. Elphir, the little boy must be Lothiriel's. I don't think he is the washerwoman's."

Amrothos let out a low whistle. "I knew it before, but that just makes it so much more real."

Elphir put the sash down. "It doesn't matter. She does not want to return. She caught on well enough just as Erchirion thought she would, enough to let us know it's her and that she's all right, but if she'd wanted to return, she would have written a letter. She's not coming back. And...I think she may be right." He turned to the seated figure looking out the window. "Father?"

Prince Imrahil could see his sons' reflections in the glass as he looked out over the dark ocean. He did not respond.

"How can she not come back?" Amrothos asked angrily.

"Would you drag her reputation over the shoals?" Elphir retorted. "Perhaps she feels, as you might if you stopped to think about it, that she may perhaps be better off in Rohan."

Erchirion moved closer to their father in the stretching silence. "She didn't mean to worry you, Father," he said tentatively. "You know, Amrot and I can show you the tree we took down yesterday. It helped us to think much more clearly." They had practically felled the thing with their bare hands, although, admittedly, it had had a dead trunk already.

The prince's lips twitched up and then down. What amazing sons he had, and apparently a daughter that matched them in boldness of spirit. He thought of his own princess and of how much she would have loved to see a grandson. He must think carefully.

"Is she well?" he asked finally.

"If she hadn't been, we would have dragged her back here," Amrothos answered immediately. "Elphir may be correct. She's got a nice little setup for herself, and a woman to help her with her son and the housework. The neighbors have taken a shine to her."

Imrahil eyed his youngest son, who was looking much more spry lately. He turned to his eldest son. "Keep her well-provisioned. The woman who helped us, the laundress turned innkeeper - have her send some gifts. Food and the like; not too much. Let's not scare Lothiriel out of her nest."

Elphir smiled in relief. "Yes, Father. And Eomer, Father?"

"What have you told him?"

"Nothing, Father, though we hate deceiving him." Elphir shifted uncharacteristically from foot to foot. "But we thought it was a family matter, given the, ah, circumstances in which we located Lothiriel."

The prince nodded slowly. "Send the courier as planned, then. We must have an alliance. But make sure he talks to me before he sees her and mistakes her for your sister. And start drafting a letter about Lothiriel."

The men withdrew to make plans, and to have the servants summoned back in order to serve a meal.

Imrahil thought that perhaps he would clear out one of the northern rooms. He had had enough of looking out over the ocean, imagining he was seeing clear to Umbar, wondering if Lothiriel had been captured and taken there. He could perhaps imagine her in Rohan instead. Perhaps he would also help his sons chop up that tree they had cut down.

* * *

May - Aldburg - Fanbern's return

Eomer knew he oughtn't visit Niniel. He knew it was supremely selfish of him. But amidst the festivities, Eowyn had dropped a word about the helpful Gondorian she had encountered, who had advised her that yes, it was customary to braid the hair around and could Berca send these drawings, and no, she could wear whatever color dress she liked for the ceremony. He knew this Gondorian must be Niniel, for she lived in Fanbern's cottage, and Eothain had given Niniel Fanbern's mark.

If it had just been for his own curiosity, he would never have ventured to see her. There was more to it, though. Apparently Eowyn's advice had been sound, and the princes of Dol Amroth had located their sister close to the Eastfold, near Erech. Either she or they or both could not bear the disgrace of her returning home with a child out of wedlock, and she would not hear of leaving the child behind (understandably, Eomer thought), so she was living in some self-imposed isolation by the foothills. It all sounded incredibly depressing, and he could see how much Prince Imrahil and his sons were suffering in her absence. The Gondorians had put on reasonably happy faces for Eowyn and Faramir's wedding, but he had caught that whisper, "It would have been Boromir wearing the White Tree, and Lothiriel up there with him," and a thousand other clues.

Perhaps if he could see for himself how settled Niniel was, he could convince the Gondorians that Lothiriel ought to try living in the Riddermark. She would not be sneered at nearly as much, if at all, and she would be close enough to where she was now. Imrahil and his sons were always welcome to visit, and Faramir and Eowyn would be by at least every so often.

No, of course this visit was not solely because Eomer wished some tender comfort after an exhausting year of rebuilding. He wouldn't mind a little, ahem, comforting, but he told himself firmly that he would not ask if she did not offer. Although he had always been fond of the ladies, as the saying went, and they of him, this past year with its relentless pressures had left him with no time to seek them out. Moreover, the intense scrutiny of his unmarried state had made him rather reclusive. So he had survived for a year with his own - er - company, and could survive longer.

Eomer breathed out a sigh as the familiar trees came into view. He loved Aldburg and knew all the outlying grounds as well as he knew the back of Firefoot's neck. As soon as his men had secured a perimeter, he and his guard Ceorl approached the cottage. They were in plain clothes, or at least as lightly armed as any of them dared go considering recent times, which meant still armored and armed, but Eomer had removed his special insignia and accepted a spare, plain helmet from a snickering Eothain. Eomer had chosen a fair day, if a bit overcast, since he felt a little uncomfortable asking his men to wait on his convenience for a rendezvous - but for a moment under Eothain's wicked grin, he wondered if he ought to have chosen a downpour.

Ceorl had been around a time or two, and he stepped forward to greet the larger woman - Malath - with a hearty kiss and a candor that Eomer envied. The old guard motioned behind him and Malath's eyes grew wide. She called into the cottage behind her.

Niniel stepped out, wiping her hands on her apron, and then her hands flew to her mouth. "Fanbern!"

Ceorl had agreed to the subterfuge, and in fact much of the hamlet was now in collusion. They understood the need to keep Eomer's identity a secret. Berca had admonished him for using a dead man's name, but when he asked her if she wasn't sure that Fanbern was rolling around cackling in mirth in the Hall of Victors for all the confusion his name was causing, she had grudgingly said he probably was. Eomer thought the women all thought a bit less of him for having such a liaison, but with Ceorl around, there wasn't going to be any liaising, anyway.

He stepped forward a bit bashfully, surprised when she flung her arms around his waist.

"Fanbern! Captain Fanbern! You're alive, oh, sweet Elbereth!"

Fanbern would certainly have liked to hear that from a supple young lady's lips, regardless of his usual tastes.

"How are you alive? I mended your cloak, have you -oh, you have a new one, of course you do."

A small boy appeared and began prancing around them in wobbly circles. "Pony. Echi pony."

"Yes, darling, you are such a big pony!" Niniel dropped her arms and took a step back. "Well, ah, hello," she switched to Rohirric.

"I can speak Westron, if you would prefer," Eomer said carefully back in Rohirric, hoping not to offend her. Fanbern himself wouldn't have known, but the Fanbern that Niniel knew had spoken Westron to her.

"No, no, I had best practice my Rohirric in the Riddermark, don't you think?" She gave him a wide smile and ushered him inside, where Malath and Ceorl already were. "Come eat. Oh, I have so much to tell you and there's so much I want to hear from you!"


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: Many heartfelt thanks to heckofabecca and annafan, who beta-read the rest of the story in one go!

I hope that the changes made in response to their suggestions and to reviews will make the following chapters more navigable and enjoyable. : )

(This chapter has been updated from its previously-posted version.)

* * *

June - Aldburg - Gondorian morals

"I heard she had fun with her Captain last night," the woman called Angwen whispered loudly to her friend.

Althwyn's brother Wulfstan snickered nastily from where he was holding the mail pony.

After a month of being meek, Lothiriel abandoned her pretense of not being able to hear. She spun around, still holding the last of the delivered jars.

"Just what do you take me for?"

Angwen gave a fake smile. "What you are. So much for your Gondorian morals."

"Well, we haven't done a thing! For your information, he meets me and we talk, and that is it!" Lothiriel made a slashing motion with her hand, hoping it looked final enough not to reveal her actual ambivalence on the matter. "Ceorl and Malath will tell you the same."

Now the women's faces mystified Lothiriel. They looked at her with puzzlement and even a little hostility.

"Oh? And why is that?" Angwen demanded. "You think yourself too good for him, do you? We've all been thanking the heavens that he returned with nary a scratch. But you, you're too stuck up to sully yourself with a Rider, are you?"

"What? You are ridiculous. You were just calling me a hussy, and now you're disappointed I'm not?"

"Well, here he is, back from the gates of hell itself, whole and sound, and you won't even-"

"Honestly, Angwen, what is the matter with you? Of course I am glad he is back, and I was astonished, but I am not a-"

"Angwen, leave her be," one of the women said, shuffling her feet. "It's not your place."

"The lot of you are absurd. Even Berca, all 'Fanbern? Fanbern? You can't have slept with Fanbern. He's got brown hair.' And nowadays she's all, 'yes, oh, Fanbern, look, how nice. Brown hair? No, it was always blond.' So what is your problem, now? Tell me!" Lothiriel was rather proud of her command of Rohirric. She had produced a whole retort in hot blood without having to think of the words, and she had quite a range of specialized vocabulary. 'Hussy' indeed - her old tutors would have been so pleased.

Angwen deflated suddenly and mysteriously. "Nothing," she shrugged. "There's no problem." She let herself be led away like a mild-tempered mare.

Lothiriel stared after them in annoyance. She had tried to be so virtuous, sure that such restrained behavior would win over the last of the holdouts among the women. And it was hard work to be virtuous! Fanbern had an easy charisma that she knew had been often employed. She could tell he was baffled, if not hurt, by her constant arrangement of Malath, Ceorl, and even Ecthelion as chaperones. She suspected that if she were anyone but a foreigner to which he'd pledged his dying mark, they'd have either tumbled by now, or he'd have left.

However, if Angwen and her lot thought ill of Lothiriel anyway, well...

"She's just jealous Cewin has sent us all these nice things," Malath gestured to the pears in brandy sauce Lothiriel held. "Brandy sauce, imagine. Married life has made Cewin quite generous, don't you think?"

Lothiriel smiled wryly. Being married to Osiric had certainly mellowed Cewin, but not that much. She traced her finger over the swan mark that the local glassmarkers had pressed into the bottom of the jar. She did miss her brothers, but she was glad they understood. She tucked the jar safely in her basket.

"Malath, do you think I am right to keep Fanbern at arm's length?"

Malath's own involvement with Ceorl was going both very well and largely unremarked. They would wed at harvest time, everyone knew that, and that was about as far as the gossip went.

Malath didn't smile, but she didn't frown, either. "I'd have thought a lot less of him if he'd asked you first thing, but you're a grown woman now." She raised her eyebrows slightly and tapped a finger on her lips. "Perhaps Ceorl and I will take Echi round the orchard next time, hmm?"

* * *

July - Aldburg - Hail Lothiriel

"Hail Lotheeriel, Princess of Gondor!"

Lothiriel stabbed herself in the thumb. "Swanship!" She yanked her hand back to avoid dripping blood on the shirt. "What did you say, Althwyn?"

The girl dropped a large canvas sack next to the barrels. "Eomer King is betrothed, and these grains are courtesy of his bride to be, the Princess Lotheeriel of Dul Amrutt."

"You're joking."

"I am not. I am happy, actually. We will need this for the winter. Berca told me when she gave me the sacks. Wulfstan is taking ours home to mother. I picked this one up for you."

"Thank you...Listen, Althwyn, are you sure it's not Princess Livraniel?"

"When I hear my king is being betrothed, I make sure of the name! Lotheeeriel." Althywn flipped her hair. "How do you say it, anyway, Dul Amrutt?"

"Dol Amroth."

"Dole Amrouth."

"Yes, that's close."

"You must have known of her, then. Is she pretty? Is she gracious? Do you think she'll make Eomer a good queen?"

"Well...there is Princess Lothiriel who is brother to Lords Amrothos, Erchirion, and Elphir..."

"Oh, yes. She must be gorgeous!" Althywn was off to the races now, talking a mile a minute. Lothiriel thanked her brothers' popularity.

"Say, Niniel, when you curse, what did you say - swan ship - chicken boat? Surely that's not really a curse?"

Amrothos had taught her it was but one letter away. She missed him. "I'm not teaching you to curse, Althwyn, and I'm sorry I said it." She rubbed her thumb lightly. There was also the Lady Lothiriel from Anfalas, near Pinnath Gelin. Lothiriel watching the bleeding slow and stop. Perhaps her royal blood was not as important as she had been led to believe. Perhaps it was easy to replace one Lothiriel for another.

* * *

July - Dol Amroth - Duty

"Eomer's going to be furious."

Elphir nodded shortly.

"This is just the sort of thing he'll despise." Erchirion matched his brother's long strides.

"He'll do his duty."

"I think Amrot had the right idea, staying well away from - " Erchirion sucked in his breath. Eomer was early, and he was in the hall.

Eomer cast a glance over his shoulder to the door where his guards waited, as though this pretty palace by the sea was the last place he wanted to be.

"Eomer," their father was saying, "it pleases me to introduce - to introduce - "

The brothers stopped short. Their father's face was pale, and he was gripping the edge of the hallway credenza tightly.

Eomer took a breath, set his face, and reminded Elphir suddenly, forcefully, of that screaming, thundering charge on the Pelennor. "The Princess Lothiriel," Eomer said charmingly, sweeter than a schooner running a dozen knots. "Of course. I have heard so much about you from your family. Princess, I am Eomer Eomundsson of the Riddermark, and I am honored to make your acquaintance." He raised the lady's limp hand and kissed her fingertips softly and properly. He unbent easily and motioned to the antechamber obviously prepared for his visit. "After you?"

Elphir hurried to his father, alarmed at the shallow breaths his father was taking. Imrahil leaned heavily against his son, and Elphir knew he must spare his father the task of explaining. He glanced into the room, where Eomer had settled second-cousin Lothiriel on a divan and himself on an ottoman facing her. Elphir winced internally. Yes, he would explain - eventually.

* * *

July - Dol Amroth - "Lothiriel"

Eomer attempted a warm smile, his mind on the task at hand, though his heart was back in the Riddermark. "Well, Princess Lothiriel, I would like to get to know you better. What sort of pastimes do you enjoy?"

The young lady flicked her eyes to Erchirion and Elphir.

Elphir coughed. "She, er, she likes to sew."

"Knit," Erchirion corrected.

"Knit."

Eomer suppressed his annoyance. What was up with these fellows? Was the lady so meek she could not answer for herself? He knew how to talk to craftsmen, though, so he asked her same question he might ask of the saddler at Edoras. "What are you working on lately? May I see?"

Princess Lothiriel's lips visibly trembled, and with a shaking hand, she drew over a piece from a nearby desk for inspection.

It was an intricately cabled panel of deep green, and as Eomer looked more closely, he could see some shaping where the sleeves would be set in. He felt touched. Was she really knitting him a sweater? But a bright splash on the wool interrupted his thought.

He smiled bravely and ignored the tear. "It looks lovely." Eomer had never had an awkward courtship before, not even as a teen. It appeared he was about to have his first.


	21. Chapter 21

August - Aldburg - Replaced

Lothiriel watched the banners of the wains in the breeze, ashen. The last time a great procession like this had gone by, had been King Theoden's funeral cortege. Lothiriel's mind went back to that last summer, when Aldburg had emptied to watch and join the funeral procession. Crippled men in streaming green cloaks, widowed women, mothers, children, and sweethearts had all ridden or been carried out to pay their respects. Lothiriel and Malath, new and foreign-tongued, had kept their dark heads well back in Aldburg. They had spent the day filling in the chinks of Captain Fanbern's cabin with mud.

This year the wagons brought happier tidings. Lothiriel strained her eyes to see her father and brothers at the front of the procession.

"You miss home, Niniel?"

In response, Lothiriel buried her face in Malath's wide shoulder.

Malath waved down to Althwyn, who had Ecthelion on the horse in front of her.

"I want to go home, but I can't," Lothiriel sobbed indistinctly. "I'm a loose woman. I oughtn't have done..."

"Now stop right there. You said yourself, you loved your lord, and you thought to bring him happiness as he was riding to doom. And same with Captain Fanbern."

"But you said - you said that-"

"And I think I was wrong. Haven't we seen enough of suffering?" Malath hugged Lothiriel. "Now dry your tears and tell me what you know about this Princess Lothiriel. I could use some gossip."

"She is not the Princess of Dol Amroth," Lothiriel said a little spitefully. "Not as in the daughter of Prince Imrahil. That's just what they're having people think. The real princess is still missing. The one Eomer King is marrying is a niece once removed to the Prince. But obviously they think it will help to style her as a princess. She was probably awarded an actual title by King Aragorn for just this purpose."

"Ah. The confusion will make it easier for people to accept her?" Malath asked.

Lothiriel nodded.

"I can see that. The Prince and his sons are well-loved here."

"I can't see how they would have gotten her to come here, though. Everyone knows she loves another, but he was sent to the Pelennor before they could marry."

"Well, perhaps she is trying to do her best for two countries recovering from war."

Lothiriel thought of the pickled carrots and beets with which her neighbors had generously paid her. She knew they were finding it difficult to plant this spring, with many men gone or recovering; and that the herds had suffered greatly. She minded old Fenulf showing her his meager catches, telling her how the rivers used to be teeming with fish to dry. Her heart beat fast as she thought of bare shelves and another winter. She tried to set aside her resentment at being so easily replaced. "Yes, I think you are right. Dol Amroth was hardly touched in the war. We- they- have plenty of fish, and lots of wool."

Malath squeezed her shoulder and they watched the dowry wagons trundle off.

* * *

August - Aldburg - Brotherly visit

The brothers picked their way through the forest path silently. The guards were a short way behind, with orders to go no further.

Amrothos nodded to Erchirion as the cottage came into view.

As they had expected, there were several washtubs in the yard and many more clotheslines than a household of three might need.

As they had also expected, a young boy's voice shouted, "Rider!" in Rohirric.

It was one thing to expect, and quite another to receive, in this case. Erchirion blinked rapidly as a small dark-haired toddler came running around the house, and a young woman with a long black braid laughed indulgently as she followed.

"You're here early," she said with a throaty chuckle. She secured her toddler in her arms and turned a wide, happy smile on them - which dropped right off her face.

"Amrot," Lothiriel breathed, paling like the winter sea. "Erchi."

Erchirion cleared his throat. "King Eomer is welcoming his new bride - Cousin Elle - you may have heard." He stopped talking as Lothiriel's son absorbed all his attention.

"We were 'in town,' shall we say," Amrothos finished. He stared at his sister. That lush, laughing look had been meant for a man. The reports they had received had been correct. "And who is this, sister?"

Lothiriel licked her lips. "Ecthelion, son of Boromir," she said quietly. She gave them a small smile. "So you see why I could not return home."

Erchirion rumbled, and his horse shifted uneasily.

He said nothing, but his look was censure enough, and Lothiriel drew her wiggling Ecthelion closer. "You would not understand," she whipped out, the words lashing like loose rigging. "No one cares how your exploits go. But I would not shame Father, nor our family name, nor myself. Nor Boromir," she concluded in a whisper. She let Ecthelion go, and he started romping around behind her skirts, peeking out at the men.

"Ah, Lot." Amrothos jumped off his horse. "We understand. We do. It is good to see you."

Lothiriel clung to his embrace, and then to Erchirion's, who followed suit.

The reunion was interrupted by the loud, fast arrival of a young man riding hell for leather down from the hillside way. "Niniel," he shouted in accented Westron. "We're back! The others are right behind."

Lothiriel was as surprised as the rest as the young roan and rider pulled up in the courtyard. Althwyn's brother slid down off his horse noisily. "Hello, Niniel," he said familiarly, sizing up the other men. "We're back," he repeated with emphasis. He had an axe clutched in one of his gangly hands.

Erchirion flicked a glance up the path and then cut a look at Amrothos, who nodded. "There's no 'we' about it," Erchirion said pleasantly, calling the young man's bluff. "You're alone."

Wulfstan wasted no time switching tracks. "Well, she's not," he said. "And I can take you."

Lothiriel was surprised he knew phrases like that in Westron. The Swan Knights and their squires must have been visiting more often than she knew.

Amrothos eyed him incredulously, and then he blinked his long black eyelashes rapidly. "Can you now?" he murmured.

"Oh, Amrot, stop," Lothiriel said. She brushed a leaf off of Wulfstan's shoulder, noting his mussed up hair and his sockless riding boots. "Althwyn sent you, did she?"

The boy nodded.

"Thank you," Lothiriel said. "These men aren't here to take advantage. These are my brothers."

Wulfstan gave them a disbelieving look which started to look a bit impressed, as he took in the filigreed sword handles and the velvet-and-jacquard suits. He whistled under his breath. "Niniel, if these are your brothers, what are you doing here?"

Lothiriel clicked her tongue thoughtfully. "There are many rules in Gondor," she said slowly, "And I broke one, so I had to leave."

Wulfstan looked at her, and at little Ecthelion, and back at her. There were some rules in the Riddermark, too.

There was a noise up the hillside path.

The brothers exchanged a look and mounted their horses.

"Lothiriel, if you change your mind..."

Lothiriel rested a hand on the bridle of Erchirion's big horse. "I know." She blinked. "Are Father and Elphir here?"

"Father is here, and Elphir is managing affairs back home," Amrothos answered.

"Could you tell them hello for me?"

"Of course." Amrothos waved halfheartedly to Ecthelion. "Goodbye, little man."

"Thank you." Lothiriel patted the bridle, then stepped back and watched as they rode away.

Althwyn and Malath rode into view a few moments later in the donkey cart.

"Your brother did well," Lothiriel called in Rohirric.

"I'm sorry," Wulfstan muttered under his breath, switching languages as well.

"What's that?" Lothiriel asked. "It was good of you." She had been surprised that a young man who had heretofore seemed to dislike her had been so willing to come to her supposed rescue.

"I haven't been very nice to you. I thought you were - well - a loose woman," he said, blushing a little. At least that was what Lothiriel thought he said. She was pretty sure she had the gist of his statement. "I didn't want Althwyn to hang around you."

Lothiriel shrugged. "I think I am that kind of woman, by any definition."

"You're some kind of a lady, though. High-born."

"I was a lady," Lothiriel corrected. "Now I'm just Niniel." She gave a little laugh. "It was good of you to ride up anyway."

Wulfstan flushed at the praise. "I would have done it for Malath or Mistress Angwen or any of the others. But Althwyn thought word might have gotten around about you and," he swallowed, "Captain Fanbern, and that they might have gotten the wrong idea."

She tapped him lightly on the shoulder. "And Fanbern, well, he's a Captain of Riders, and maybe saving his girl would put in a good word for you?" she joked.

Wulfstan was staring at her again. "Yes," he said at last. "I would do anything for him."


	22. Chapter 22

August - Aldburg - Guthwine

As soon as Fanbern stepped through the door, Lothiriel knew this visit would be different. Fanbern did not flop down at "his" spot at the bench with a loud and comfortable sigh, and bring out a cask or a bag of something tempting to try now and share with Malath and Ecthelion later. Instead, he walked slowly and directly to the hearth.

Alarmed, Lothiriel put the spoon on its rest, just as Fanbern's arms came to her shoulders. "Niniel," he breathed. He buried his nose in her hair.

He stepped back. "I have always said that since the war I am not free to marry."

Hearing these words was like seeing a big breaker coming, when Lothiriel felt like a little scull.

"I cannot see you anymore. It will not be fair to my future wife."

Lothiriel trembled in place and grabbed one of the hearthstones to steady herself.

Fanbern sensed her building anger and stepped back.

"I am going to make you my kin," he said seriously, "a father's brother's daughter, which will entitle you to certain rights. You have done much work on this house, and of course you may keep it. You will have a writ for five of my horses, whichever and whenever you choose, aside from those reserved for the royal house, and aside from the time of a muster."

Horses! What did she want with horses! She had the donkey, and that was enough. But perhaps a fine gelding for Ecthelion, sure. Lothiriel had lived enough life outside palaces by now. If he was going to throw her some charity after breaking her heart, she would take it.

Fanbern drew a great breath. "But I must tell you something."

"Oh?" Lothiriel couldn't help herself. "Something more?"

Fanbern ignored her sarcasm and moved to the table. He unbuckled his sword belt slowly and laid it on the table. "I hope you will forgive me. I had said this was my uncle's sword?"

"Yes..."

"I did not lie. It was my uncle's sword." He drew the sword on the table, and Lothiriel could see runes on it. He had never drawn it in front of her before, had always kept it with his cloak, and now in the light on the table she could see rubies embedded in the hilt. "My uncle was Theoden King. I am not Fanbern - he was a soldier, and a good one. I am Eomer. I was Third Marshal of the Riddermark until I followed my uncle in the kingship. His son, my cousin Theodred, had been slain some months prior."

Lothiriel was so stunned she could only stare.

His broad palm smoothed the table. "As king, I could disburse the property of those soldiers who died without kin. And I knew...that it is not such a light thing to lie with a traveling soldier, especially not in Stoningland...and I wanted you to have a place here in the Riddermark. I had planned to never see you again."

"Fanbern died from wounds he got on the Pelennor," Eomer continued. "I sat with him and received his mark when he died. Since he had no living relatives, then his lands, his horse, and any unspent pay he had, were deemed my property as King." He looked embarrassed. "You may understand why I would not want a washerwoman, who did not know my station, to realize that I was king. But I was talking with Eothain about how unfair your Gondorian society was, for an unmarried woman. I wanted to provide for you, so I had Eothain choose among the marks of the unmarried men who had fallen. He gave you Fanbern's mark. His horse died," he added, "or Myrkfot would have been yours as well."

Lothiriel let all her held breath whoosh out. Captain Fanbern was Eomer King. Of course he was not free to marry. Well, she understood duty. "I thank you for your concern. I am indeed doing better here than I might have in Gondor. But you do not have to make me your kin," she said, cold as a vein in the winter sea. "Give me the house, and a horse for Ecthelion, and let me be. There should be no shame on a royal house." How well she knew that!

Lothiriel turned away from the table and put her hands on the hearth, letting her tears stream down her face. She heard Fanbern - no, Eomer - buckle his sword belt back on, step towards her, hesitate, and then begin to retreat.

He had indeed always mentioned he could not marry her. He had, at this last, shown her his true identity. She let her mind sweep through dozens of clues, little moments, his perfect Westron. She had long suspected he was some noble, perhaps fancying to live roughly on the outskirts of Aldburg as a lark. And how could she fault him for keeping a secret like that, when she herself was Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, and Ecthelion the son of Boromir?

Lothiriel stood like a lighthouse rock, letting her memories lap about her, battering at her bit by bit, until Malath and Ecthilion returned.


	23. Chapter 23

August - Edoras - Indifference

Princess Lothiriel finished the great green sweater and sent it away immediately by courier. She then began another sweater in blue. Eomer made sure to sit with her for at least a half hour most evenings. He watched as the pattern of rampant horses, their manes braided in intricate cables, took shape.

Eomer regarded his future wife. Prince Imrahil had apologized profusely for the bungled introduction, and once Eomer had gotten past the realization that she was not the Princess Lothiriel he had been expecting her to be, he found that there was nothing objectionable about her. She enjoyed the horses politely and was a decent rider. She was friendly to the staff and smiled at Eomer's attempts at humor. However, he had the distinct feeling that she was indifferent to himself.

On his side, although he was trying to grow attracted, he saw her merely as a pretty and delicate young lady. He thought his feelings for her might be more akin to those for a young cousin or for a sister like Eowyn, but not nearly as fond or as close. The thought of bedding her for the good of the Riddermark made him feel a little ill. Women loved him. They were not indifferent to him. Niniel had loved him, before he'd stomped her heart into mud. His innards squirmed with guilt. He mustn't think of Niniel. He had done her a wrong turn, but thinking about her now would do his future queen another, and two wrongs did not make a right.

He wanted to be attracted to his bride. Perhaps if her eyebrows were just a bit fuller, like Niniel's - no, mustn't think of her - a bit darker, like Erchirion's. Eomer drew his mind up short. Never one to be afraid, he examined that thought. Was he attracted to Erchirion? No, he concluded with relief. No, he was just a fan of thick eyebrows now. He had never been before, not with Rohirric women, but perhaps it was something about the dark Gondorian hair. Eomer wondered if Erchirion's real sister, now grown from the drawing he had seen, would have looked more like Erchirion, or more like Elphir. He then wondered if she might look like a female version of Amrothos, and then he gave up. He just needed to concentrate on his fiancee, that was all.

* * *

August - Aldburg - Swan

Even Angwen was being nice. She suddenly had a bumper crop of blackberries; an extra spool of thread.

"Why?" Lothiriel asked blankly. "You hate me."

Angwen sighed. "I envied you. I thought I could keep doing so forever. I thought he would take you with him. But I should have known; Eomer King would not be cruel to his queen, nor cruel to you, to have you live at court with her."

"You all knew. I can't believe it."

"We didn't know at first," Althwyn admitted, handing her shelled peas to Angwen and twining some hair around her finger. "We thought it was possible you had actually been with the real Fanbern." She wrinkled her nose, then caught herself, and added, "which would have been fine. He was a good soldier. But once we saw Eomer King come around, it all made ever so much more sense."

Lothiriel turned to Angwen. "So you like me now that I've had my heart broken."

Angwen shrugged. "Yes?"

"Well, I had it broken before. Ecthelion's father was a soldier and my betrothed, and he died."

"I know," and here Angwen looked immeasurably sad, "but you got sweet Echi out of it, at least."

Oh. Lothiriel had thought no one would ever love such a sharp-mannered woman as Angwen, but perhaps her experience with Cewin should have told her better. "You had a - husband?"

Angwen nodded. "For a season. He took fever and died, just like that."

"I am sorry." Lothiriel meant a bit more than that.

"I am, too."

Althwyn had begun shelling the next batch. "You know," she said cautiously, "I hear Eomer King and his new bride are quite cold with each other. Well, not cold exactly, but not warm either." The girl looked sideways at Lothiriel. "You are some kind of noble, too, aren't you? A high one?"

"Me? No." Lothiriel tried to bluff. She wasn't sure how much Wulfstan might have told his sister. "Merely a-" Lothiriel was surprised by Malath sitting down heavily beside her as Ecthelion tore down the slope to roll in some dandelions.

Malath regarded her gravely. "We can all tell, Niniel."

"Is it that obvious?" And here she had thought she had done so well with her subterfuge. "Wulfstan couldn't tell, not until he had seen my brothers."

"Wulfstan is a boy," Angwen said dismissively. "He couldn't tell his...from his..."

She and Althwyn laughed. Malath mouthed some dirty words to Lothiriel in Westron.

"Ah, so they were your brothers, those men who came looking for you." Malath nodded to herself. "No wonder. You are the Princess of Dol Amroth. We knew you were no maid, Cewin and I did. Even a handmaid, noble though she may be, has to bow before her mistress. You didn't know how to bow to anyone."

"Until I learned to stir the cauldron."

"Which we never made you do much, eh?"

Now even Berca had come by, bringing more peas. "You all gossip like old hens. But what's this about Niniel's secret?" She did not sound all that surprised.

"Eavesdropper." Lothiriel took a breath. "I am the Princess Lothiriel of Dol Amroth." She watched Berca's face, but the woman merely nodded in acceptance. "And Echi is Ecthelion, son of Boromir." It felt good to be free of that mooring.

"Boromir?" Berca's eyebrows went up. "The Lord Boromir, the Captain General of Gondor at the start of the War?"

"Yes."

"Aha. The one who was betrothed to a Princess Lothiriel," Berca said, the most knowledgeable of them on foreign affairs. "And that was you."

"That was me." Lothiriel touched the chain around her neck, from which Boromir's ring still hung.

Althwyn frowned. "But Eomer is right now courting the Princess of Dole Amrouth. How can that be?"

"The princess at Edoras is my cousin, also named Lothiriel. It means 'garlanded maiden,' and is not so uncommon a name. My father or King Aragorn may have elevated her title to Princess. They may have replaced my station with hers altogether, if they had thought me truly dead. "

The women stopped to process that bit of information for a few moments. The waters were calm; there were no big exclamations at her revelation.

"That's my spool of thread. You won't be needing it." Angwen moved to take it back, but Lothiriel scooted away.

"Yes, I will. I have old Frea's dower belt to mend, and this is the right color."

"But you are the rightful Princess of Dol Amroth! Go claim your king! Go get Eomer, your Fanbern!"

"Eomer King could use your help," Althwyn added. "You're a real princess. Surely there are things you could teach him. And he already likes you!"

Lothiriel looked down the hill. She would like to, of course, but she couldn't. "How could I explain Ecthelion to him? It is not suitable, for a queen."

Berca crunched through a whole hull of a pea pod. "Maybe not in Mundberg, it wouldn't have been, but this is the Riddermark, Niniel. And your son is the son of Lord Boromir! Believe it or not, Lord Boromir traveled through here quite a bit in his younger days. We knew him, Eomer knew him." She pointed the other pea pod half at Lothiriel. "You are scared."

"Chicken," added Angwen.

Althwyn made a few clucking noises under her breath.

"Swan," said Malath, raising her eyebrows.

Lothiriel looked again at Ecthelion, whose dark hair shone like Boromir's had. "Yes," agreed Lothiriel. "I suppose I am a swan."


	24. Chapter 24

July - Edoras - The Horse

Elle, or Lothiriel, waited patiently by the paddock until Eomer noticed her. He was training a magnificent horse in his spare time, one of the Meara. Now, Eomer had of course gifted Elle with a horse as a betrothal present, but Elle was more perceptive than a clod of dirt. Daisy was a perfectly lovely mare with a good temperament, and hailed from the sheep lands, so she was comfortable with a flock. Elle appreciated that quality. A normal mare by Rohirric standards, Daisy was easily two strides above every horse of Berin's in Pinnath Gelin. However, she was not a Meara, one of the royal herd, and Elle had heard the whispers. Eomer had finally snapped at somebody, "I will give her a Meara when she becomes queen!" but from the sidelong looks whenever Elle rode out on Daisy, Elle knew that that answer was not satisfactory in the least.

But she equally knew that this warhorse was not for her, and that Eomer had already trained Firefoot's replacement, so it was not for himself, either. Her suspicions were confirmed when Eomer saw her and stopped short, running his hand through his hair in a nervous gesture. Eomer was seldom nervous. Elle raised her eyebrows. She thought she knew the explanation. Perhaps she could return to Berin, after all.

* * *

July - the Dimholt - Amrothos

The first thing Lothiriel did was not to don all her finery, nor to charge up to Edoras, but to write a letter to her brothers. She folded one of her swan handkerchiefs in it.

The reply came only a few days later, hand couriered straight to Aldburg and passed via Berca. In that time, Lothiriel had quietly packed and made plans with Malath.

Lothiriel had gotten some of the village husbands to accompany her to the Dimholt, which was not far. She was not surprised to feel the sensation of being watched, for surely her brother had his scouts out.

Then she saw Amrothos himself, with a woman riding beside him. The rest of his guards stayed a respectful distance back while Amrothos and the woman approached.

Henneth recognized her erstwhile mistress immediately and burst into tears. Amrothos took longer, looking her over.

"Happy to see me, brother?"

He ran the back of a gloved hand over his face. "Ah, Lottie, we've missed you."

"Look, Henneth." Lothiriel gestured to where Ecthelion rode on the donkey, with Malath in the donkey cart.

Henneth took a slow breath of wonder. She started weeping quietly into her handkerchief and drew her horse close to Ecthelion, heaping incoherent praise upon him.

Amrothos made some signal with his hand that was not visibly followed in any way, although Lothiriel supposed it might have been made to his scouts.

She in turn drew back and spoke to Finneth's husband, telling him that her brother would escort them from here.

Malath lifted Ecthelion off the donkey for a hug. "Be good for Niniel, Echi."

Echi whimpered. "Malath not come with?"

"Malath will keep the little house, and feed Simon the donkey." She did not know if Niniel would return, although they had talked through all of what they thought were the possible scenarios.

Ecthelion looked to his mother, then back to Malath. "Malath be lonely?"

Malath smiled at him and took his little hand in her beefy one. "No, ducky. Uncle Ceorl will come visit Malath." He was by neither so infrequently that Malath missed him, nor frequently enough to annoy her.

That reply seemed to be enough for Ecthelion, and Malath took advantage of his acceptance to press a big kiss to his cheek. "Write to me, ducky."

"Yes, Malath," Ecthelion agreed, though he may or may not have understood what it meant.

"Now go with Niniel." She lifted him into Lothiriel's arms, to sit in front of his mother. She gave him a wave and a big smile. "Have a good trip."

"Bye, Malath." Ecthelion snuggled into Lothiriel's lap.

Lothiriel smiled tightly at Malath. They had said their goodbyes the night before, but Malath couldn't help saying something. "I'll be letting Angwen do some of the stitch work, you know."

Lothiriel huffed. "She'll be insufferable."

"Well, that's what you get for leaving."

"Goodbye, Malath."

"Princess."

Lothiriel nodded to Amrothos, and they set off for the south, while Malath turned the donkey toward home.

* * *

August - Dol Amroth - Homecoming

"See that tree?" Amrothos said when they first approached the castle.

"The one on the ground?" Lothiriel stared at its unevenly hacked trunk.

"Erchi and I tore it down."

"Oh. When you thought I had died?"

"No, when we heard you'd lived and deliberately kept away from us." Amrothos' mouth was tight.

Lothiriel sighed. She wasn't sorry, not exactly. She knew how many rumors were already spreading, just by Ecthelion riding with her through the apparently unobserved countryside. Many more rumors would spread once they arrived home. "I had to, Amrothos. It's so different in the Riddermark, you wouldn't believe it. Some parts of Gondor I miss, like, well, like you- and lobster, of course-" she added jokingly, trying to release some of the tension, "but it was so much better for Ecthelion there." He had fallen asleep, his little head nodding by her stomach, and she had carefully put him in the carriage Amrothos had had waiting on the other side of the Dimholt. She longed to smooth his hair as she thought of him. "He rides so well now. Our friend Althwyn taught him."

"I know, Lothi. But surely you didn't think Father would cast you out? Our family isn't like that."

"But so much of society is, I didn't want to chance it."

"You didn't trust Father."

"I didn't know. And - Amrot, I'm only going to admit this to you, but - it wasn't just Boromir."

"Yes, I know. There was Fanbern, too," Amrothos said, biting off the name he had heard from the report.

Lothiriel frowned at him. "Don't tell me you've never done something similar." She looked away, towards the sea. "Then I really couldn't come home. I wasn't ashamed, but I knew Father would be ashamed of me." She looked back at him. "And maybe the lot of you would be, as well."

She didn't mention Fanbern was Eomer King. By all accounts her brothers got on very well with the young king, and she wasn't about to spoil it. Eomer King could very well handle himself, if or when it came to telling them.

Amrothos regained his composure. "I think you could have trusted us all a little more, Lothiriel." He nodded back towards the tree they were leaving behind. "Erchi and I only took down the tree. Father's the one who made the great gashes in it. "

Lothiriel winced. "Would it still help if I wore mother's blue earrings and a blue dress and apologized in tears?"

Amrothos shrugged. "It's not quite the same as breaking a telescope, but it wouldn't hurt to try."

* * *

A/N: I thought of having Lothiriel stay in her cottage and learn to be content with her life, far below the station she was born in; to have her watch the events she could have shaped unfold without her and accept the consequences of her previous decisions in the form of a well-lived life of obscurity...then Romance won out.


	25. Chapter 25

A/N: Wondereye, silverswath, and Mary07, thanks for the reviews!

The following (unbeta'ed) vignette is dedicated to heckofabecca.

* * *

Lothiriel wiped her eyes with the back of her hand as the castle gained clarity. The spires gleamed in the early dawn light. "I never thought I'd see home again."

Amrothos straightened in the saddle. "That would have been up to you." He nodded to the wide-eyed guards who were opening the large wrought-iron gates. Several of his men dispersed to enter by the paddock way, but the main retinue filed through behind them.

"Father has some meetings today," Amrothos remarked as they dismounted and Lothiriel fussed her way over to the carriage to check on her boy. "We may not see him until - oh - "

Lothiriel closed the carriage door gently so as not to wake Ecthelion. She turned at Amrothos' exclamation, to see her father hurrying down the wide marble steps. Amrothos stood to the side as their father sprinted across the flagstones.

"Lottie." In the Riddermark, Lothiriel thought her father might have crushed her in an embrace, but instead he fell to his knees on the dew-slicked cobbles. He grasped the muddy hem of her dress and brought it to his chest.

"Oh," Lothiriel started, "Father, don't." She said the first thing that came to mind. "You'll stain that damask."

The Prince of Dol Amroth burst into tears. The guards looked decently away.

* * *

July - Dol Amroth - Father and daughter

The blue dress did help, but the first few days back were tense all around. The only exception was Ecthelion, who was fascinated with the sea and the maps and his doting, well-educated uncles who explained to him the stars and the tides and how Malath and his little cottage were only a few days' ride away. Why, he could measure that distance easily with his hands on grandfather's desk chart. Grandfather had a wonderful collection of little wooden ships, just the length of his fingers; the sweat-stained strategic maps that they had been pushed upon during the war had been hastily rolled away.

Lothiriel studied Ecthelion on the floor. "I cannot be sorry about him, Father, but I am sorry for bringing shame to the house."

Prince Imrahil sighed. "You are not at fault, little swan. Boromir should have known better, the Valar grant him peace. The man had lived in Minas Tirith all his life. He knew what the stakes were for you. He should never have acted in such a way."

Lothiriel swayed on her feet. Her father thought the indiscretion was no fault of her own! Had her past years been for nothing? Had all of her scheming, to save herself and her family from shame, been unnecessary? Well, not wholly unnecessary, for Ecthelion would never be looked at as a proper son, here in Gondor. But did her father really mean what he said?

"Cousin Boromir was an honorable man," Lothiriel feinted. "It was I who was- who behaved-" She could not say the words after all, and stopped speaking, mortified.

"Boromir was a man twice your age. He should have known better, no matter what temptation you posed - and I do not want to hear about it," Prince Imrahil added, holding up one hand which she saw out of the corner of her eye. "But I am glad you are here."

Lothiriel smiled at him tentatively, and the prince began gathering some of the breakable objects on his desk together. "Perhaps this will interest you. Your cousin Faramir was looking through some documents. Denethor had drawn one up, soon after Boromir left for Imladris, that the firstborn child of Lothiriel's would be given a tract of hunting grounds between the City and Lossarnach. What does that tell you of what Denethor knew of your child, and his feelings on the matter? And your cousin Faramir, when presented with this document, he did not object. He did not reassign the land. No, he immediately had it brought before the King and made official. What does that say about your cousin's opinion of you?"

Lothiriel sat down suddenly into one of the study chairs as Imrahil continued. "I think Denethor knew, when he was himself, that there was a chance that Boromir would not return. There was nothing he could do for you directly, Lothiriel, no way to undo centuries of custom and thinking in a day, but you would have been able - you would be able - to live on that estate. You wouldn't lack for anything, and neither would the child. " He smiled at her. "My sister, your Aunt Finduilas, enjoyed those grounds, for hawking. It was her favorite estate. I am sure Denethor remembered, and doubly so that Faramir did as well."

Lothriel watched, speechless, as the prince stowed the last of the breakable objects in a high cupboard and shut it surreptitiously as his grandson plotted the course of the wall-sconces with the wooden sextant. "But since you did not know that before, I must ask: what changed to bring you back, daughter?" He had gotten used to her presence in a week. He knew her reason was not really himself, and that she could have stayed in Rohan forever, his poor old heart notwithstanding. King Aragorn was sure to get a chuckle over this episode. Well, with any luck, the king would learn just how thoughtlessly inconsiderate of their parents children could be.

"I am the princess who should marry Eomer King."

Aha. Well, that reasoning was direct. "You have heard about your cousin Elle?" It had been a desperate thing to do. Eomer had not been pleased with what he considered a deception, but had understood how important the marriage was to the people, and how advantageous it was to be able to tap into a general confusion that he was marrying Imrahil's daughter rather than a distant niece.

"Cousin Elle wants nothing more than to marry Lord Berin, and she and Eomer do not suit."

Prince Imrahil sighed. "You have a son, though, Lothiriel. Now, I understand, and your brothers understand, but-"

"Eomer King will consider me no less. I know it from his subjects themselves." She did not add that she had also heard it from the king himself, that night in Minas Tirith. "My worth is more in the Riddermark. Ecthelion adds to it rather than detracting. Even were we to go to Uncle Denethor's estate, Ecthelion would be scorned. But in the Riddermark, he could be adored." She did not add that Ecthelion was already adored, by the man she planned to marry.

Prince Imrahil regarded his daughter, dressed in the wools of Rohan, with wooden carved pins adorning her hair, from whose lips words like 'the Riddermark' flowed with the cadence of the north.

"Let me write to Eomer and tell him you are found."


	26. Chapter 26

A/N: Well, here we are - last chapter. Thank you so much for joining me on this ride.

* * *

September - Dol Amroth - Prankster

Henneth looked at her mistress doubtfully. "Another layer of powder, my lady? Are you sure?"

"Quite sure." Lothiriel was already as white as the chalk cliffs of Amroth. She carefully selected her colors: rosebud red for her lips; a thin black eyebrow pencil. "Please do the makeup as you did when I was betrothed to my Lord Boromir."

"Yes, my lady." Henneth hesitated. "I have heard that they are less formal in Rohan. Isn't that true? Perhaps a lighter lip color and some more of your natural face?"

"Exactly as it was, if you please."

The elaborate braids weighed on Lothiriel's head like a bad cold. She made her way down the hall, and Erchirion nearly passed her by.

He did a double take. "I haven't seen you like that since you went to Minas Tirith," he said. He chewed his lip for a moment before adding, "Lottie, Eomer is not a man to stand on appearance. I think he might rather like you with a little less..." Erchirion waved his hands. "Getup."

Lothiriel smiled. "Yes, perhaps." She took his arm. "Shall we?"

She knew how Eomer was with Niniel. Would he be the same way with the Princess of Dol Amroth? Would he welcome an errant-born son from a princess the way he welcomed Ecthelion from a washerwoman?

* * *

September - Lossarnach and Dol Amroth - Princess

Eomer understood what had been wrong with his engagement as soon as the young lord meeting their escort dismounted. The man swept his cloak aside in order to bow, revealing the sleeves of a beautiful green woolen sweater that Eomer had watched being knit. The lord made a deep but quick obeisance, and then his hands flew to Princess Lothiriel's reins, and he drew the horse of the rejected bride forward.

Eomer made some brief goodbyes that were perhaps not noted very carefully by the couple.

Dol Amroth was a few days' ride hence, and in the sitting room he remembered was a woman bedecked with jewels.

"Princess," he said formally. He was not sure if he could take another round of courtships, but for Imrahil's and the princes' sakes, he would try.

"King Eomer."

"Please, ah, just Eomer." He tried to read her expression through the thick veil of her makeup. She looked familiar, but then, of course she would, being the sister of his friends.

The princess inclined her head. After a few moments of weighty silence, she spoke.

"We are both well aware of the advantages of a marriage of state."

"Yes, Princess, of course- although I would try my best to be a warm blanket - er - husband."

"A warm horse blanket for a mare like you," was the phrase from the song. Lothiriel fought a smile off her face, for Eomer must be nervous, and answered coldly.

"Has my father has mentioned I have a son?"

The set of Eomer's shoulders in his fancy dress cloak relaxed slightly. "Ecthelion son of Boromir will be welcome at Edoras. You must understand he cannot be in line for the throne, at least not in the Riddermark, but his father was a fine man and soldier. And of course the boy is now nephew to my sister and myself."

"Very well. I see no obstacles." She turned to the adjoining room. "Ecthelion?" she called out.

Eomer raised his eyebrows in surprise, for although the little boy wore an unaccustomed velvet, he was certainly the same little boy Eomer knew so well, whom he had been envisioning on the seat of a fine horse he was training.

"Captain!" the little boy crowed with delight.

"Echi, you rascal," he said in Rohirric. He had heard Niniel had moved from her cottage. He glanced up at the doorway, hoping to see Niniel, and also looking for the son of the Princess, who must have Echi as a playmate. "What are you doing all the way here? Where is mama?"

"Mama is right here."

Eomer stopped looking at the doorway. He looked at the grinning boy he had in his arms who was trying to blow raspberries on him. Echi could be short for Ecthelion. Eomer turned slowly. "Niniel?" He took a step towards the Princess. It was Niniel, underneath the jewels. "Niniel! You tricked me."

"You cannot be angry with me, Fanbern," she said pointedly.

Eomer began to smile, and to pick out in his mind the Meara she would have.

* * *

Epilogue - Edoras

 _Here is the horse and here is the rider,_

 _They eat some oats and get a little bit wider._

 _Who is the wider, the horse or the rider?_

"The rider, I thought, for the horse can work it off."

Lothiriel smiled at the voice behind her and relaxed into her husband's arms. She had thought that she would keep Boromir in a corner of her heart forever, but it was not true. The heart, the loving heart, was not a thing to be divided. It grew and it changed, just as she did, and her love for Boromir grew and changed with it. She held that love for Boromir and her son together with all of her loves, including her love for Eomer, and found that her heart was not divided, and was indeed whole.

Ecthelion son of Boromir discovered, to his delight, that he had a frame born for fighting. His father's prowess mingled with that of his mother's family, and he grew tall and strong. He would not stay at court forever, and with his mother's kiss and his foster-father's hand clasp, he left with the Dunedain for the wild reaches of the Wold and beyond.

***The End***

* * *

A/N: There we are. Happy trails to our golden couple. : ) I hope you enjoyed the story!


	27. Chapter 27

A/N: Bonus chapter for reviewers who thought the previous ending was a bit abrupt. Set after Eomer and Lothiriel's meeting and before the epilogue, although I am keeping the epilogue where it is.

* * *

September - Dol Amroth - Betrothal

 _Amrothos,_

 _I hope this letter finds you well. Lothiriel and Eomer have gotten on splendidly. Eomer's changed his mind about a long betrothal. He insists, and Father and King Aragorn agree, that a fall wedding is just what his people need._

 _Given the state of the coast, Father is reluctant to have you return so soon after your last trip, which I know is going to stick in your craw. I thought I'd warn you before you read his dispatch (enclosed). Elphir has volunteered to take my place here so that I may attend. I'll be accompanying his wife, so you'll be able to get all the details from her. Lothiriel assures you there will be plenty of back and forth and that she will save you some fruitcake._

 _Good hunting._

 _Erchirion_

Splendidly was putting it mildly. Erchirion had stowed the box of wooden ponies and carts that his nephew had been playing with and come around to see how well the meeting was going. They were all anxious for the match to work, and Erchirion had been worried about how formal Lothiriel was being.

He needn't have worried. It took all his effort to keep quiet at the sight of Eomer holding Ecthelion in one arm and Lothiriel in the other, and baleen to barnacles if the man wasn't sniffing his sister's hair. Eomer drew back, and Ecthelion knew as surely as he was a man what was going to happen next - some sloppy open-mouthed kissing, that was what - so he took a noisy step back and thumped the wall as he rounded the corner again. Eomer and Lothiriel had sprung several feet apart. Lothiriel's eyes were very wide. Erchirion would bet his last oar there was something more here. Although Eomer's emotions ran hot, he could keep a tactical head, and had been doing his utmost to follow Gondorian customs on Gondorian soil; what an unusual liberty for him to take in such a precarious situation. As for Lothiriel, she must have changed a great deal from the girl who had shyly cold-shouldered Cousin Boromir for years.

With the betrothal dinner winding to a close, Erchirion watched the couple carefully. Lothiriel was chatting animatedly to Elphir's wife, and Eomer was so close on Lothiriel's other side that he and Lothiriel were nearly touching. Ecthelion had long since been sent to bed.

Elphir was nodding to one of the guild-masters. "Yes, I'm glad you think that now you'll be able to make the shipment on time after all. And it's very generous of you to throw in those extra carpets."

"We're all fond of her," the man said, pink with wine and the satisfaction of feeling included. "Seeing her grow up and all. Good match, this is."

"Yes, we're very pleased."

Elphir made a happy noise as the man moved off. "Father will be content. That's the fourth guild, and a number of the small fiefs have said much the same." Several families and assorted nobility and notables had been staying in Dol Amroth for the better part of a week, visiting with Lothiriel, meeting her son, and politely not mentioning the timing or circumstances of his origin. It had been Prince Imrahil's idea to get all the gossip-mongering over at once, and also, in a calculated risk, to ensure excellent turnout for the betrothal dinner.

Erchirion grunted, and Elphir raised an eyebrow. "Pebble for your thoughts? You've been staring holes in them all evening."

"I was just thinking how it might have been different if she'd been like this with Boromir," Erchirion hedged. "Maybe she was too young."

"Well, she was very young, wasn't she. And there was the war, of course."

Erchirion nodded. Boromir had been a captain of men while Erchirion had still been learning to don his armor. Boromir's first thoughts would always have been on the defense of Gondor.

Elphir lifted the remains of his wine. "To Boromir."

"To Boromir." They drank down the toast. Boromir would have approved of this match in his place; they had all thought so in discussion, even Cousin Faramir. Likewise, it was evident that Eomer had no problem raising a son of Boromir's. Now Erchirion wondered if Eomer knew about Fanbern, and the thought gave him a pang of unease. Eomer was open-minded, but would he be jealous of a past affair? And on Lothiriel's side, was she heartbroken over this Fanbern fellow, for all she'd decided to marry Eomer? Was she putting on an act? If she was, it was a good one. Her stiffly caked makeup had started to physically crack from her smiling, and Henneth had come to her mistress and wiped most of it away. The smiles looked real. They didn't look desperate.

It took a while to get Lothiriel on her own. Most guests would be departing early the next day, so there was a flurry of farewells and congratulations.

"Here, cousin!" Cousin Elle pushed a large paper-wrapped package into Lothiriel's arms. "In case I miss you in the morning."

"Whatever is this?"

"I never finished that sweater I was knitting for King Eomer, so I took it apart and made you a reading blanket. Everyone kept saying how cold it would be!" She tittered against her fiance's arm. "Good night!"

Then there was Eomer. Erchirion knew that the Rohir were a storytelling people with barely a written language, but he had not quite appreciated the man's gift for gab, even when sober, until this evening. It was only after Father had excused himself and Elphir and his wife had raised their eyebrows ever so slightly at each other and gone to bed that Eomer had smiled and withdrawn.

Erchirion accompanied his sister upstairs as the servants started the minimum of clearing up until the morning.

Lothiriel was beaming. Then again, Lothiriel had hidden a child from all of them and run away to Rohan, so Erchirion thought it wise not to assume he knew what she was thinking.

"Lottie. Lothiriel."

"Hmm?"

"Congratulations."

"Mmm." She smiled happily. "Thank you, Erchirion. It's too bad Elphir and Amrothos will miss it. Meribeth will tell Elphir everything, of course, but do you think Amrothos will be very upset?"

"He'll understand." He would. They all did. There hadn't been more than a moment's teasing about Eomer being an eager husband, not when Lothiriel would arrive with the remainder of an increasingly generous dowry, well in time for winter. "It's you I'm worried about, Lothiriel."

"Me? Why are you worried about me?"

"Fanbern."

Lothiriel took a step back and nearly flattened herself against the wall. Her eyes were now guarded. "What about him?"

"Well...do you miss him?" Erchirion kept his voice calm, the way one soothed a new sailor down from the ratlines. "We all know that this marriage is so important for so many people. I know that's why you returned. Father told me. But you can at least talk about him, if you'd like. I'd listen."

"Oh. Well. Oh. Erchirion...that's very nice of you...maybe I will." She twisted her hands and smiled at him. "Please don't worry."

He nodded at her. "Good night." He wasn't convinced.

* * *

October - Edoras - Discovery

It was Amrothos who figured it out; Amrothos who pushed his fleet and his crew to their limit doing a crackerjack job of dealing with those pirates, so he could attend his sister's wedding and walk straight into one of those carved wooden posts in the Golden Hall.

"Uinen have mercy!" Amrothos rubbed his nose and stared at Lothiriel and Eomer staring back at him. Lothiriel had stopped laughing. Eomer had dropped his hands from where he was telling a joke about a horse.

"Yes, on your nose, Brother."

Amrothos' eyes widened and his eyebrows went up as his mouth stretched into a mischievous O. "A-ha-ha, Lothiriel. I will talk with you later. As for you - Horse Lord - I will talk with you now."

Eomer raised his eyebrows in mock affront, but he was not really insulted. Amrothos knew the limits very well, from testing them so often. Nevertheless, there was something different snapping in those dark eyes.

Amrothos couldn't contain himself long enough to get Eomer away, anyway. "Fanbern!" he exclaimed.

Two of the women hanging up garlands suddenly dropped one.

Erchirion noticed that not a few of the guards were shuffling their feet and clearing their throats.

"Amrothos - I - how did you know?" stuttered Lothiriel.

"Ai Gilthoniel! It was just now! He said that thing about the hooves, and you laughed and you _looked_ at him!"

Whatever it was, it obviously made sense in Amrothos' head. The more Erchirion thought about it, the more it made sense in his own head.

"Amrothos," Eomer's eyes were serious. "I'd like for you not to be upset. I understand it's not done in Stoningland. Believe me, I -"

Amrothos himself was wheezing with mirth now. "Save it," he choked out. "It's too funny."

Erchirion wasn't sure if it was funny or not. "Nobody tell Father."

"Tell Father what?" Imrahil inquired politely, unwinding a scarf as he came up the main stairs and into the hall.

Amrothos stopped laughing abruptly. "Nothing," he said, a sure sign that he knew their father had to be told.

Erchirion held his breath.

Lothiriel had ceased moving altogether.

Eomer had gone pale under his tan. "Let's sit in the West Room." He gave some rapid orders to a gray-haired woman who appeared and disappeared efficiently. "Please, follow me."

Imrahil followed the convoluted explanations with the perfectly calm face of a fathoms-deep lagoon. Nobody drank the cider. The gray-haired woman slipped in and out silently, replacing the cooling mugs with hot ones.

Imrahil ignored his two sons in the periphery and focused on the couple in front of him. Eomer's chin was stiffer than the prow of an Umbarian galley, and if he was the galley, then Lothiriel was the corsair, her eyes flashing saucily with defiance as she clutched Eomer's hand. Imrahil let them squirm internally for a few moments more. Their worry was gratifying but unfounded; despite his ideas about propriety, why would he censure soon-to-be-newlyweds who already enjoyed each other's company, for enjoying each other's company? He was sure he'd feel outraged later for a variety of reasons, but those feelings could wait until he was safely back in Dol Amroth, with no chance of jeopardizing relations. He picked up his mug and the air level in the room dropped as breaths were sucked in simultaneously.

Imrahil took a small sip, reveling in the suspense. "I think it's a good thing the two of you are getting married," he said mildly. Air was returned to the room in a rush, and eight eyes stared at him in disbelief as he nodded to the door. "I'm sure there is still plenty to get ready. Amrothos, you go help them. Erchirion, I need a spot of company." Erchirion would do until King Elessar arrived.

The relieved couple and their discoverer made a quick exit. Erchirion and his father leaned back in their chairs.

They sipped cider quietly, appropriating the mugs left behind.

"Erchirion?"

"Yes, Father?"

"Has any woman caught your fancy?"

"Not yet, Father."

"Good. All in good time. Hand me a sweet roll, would you, please?"

* * *

October - Edoras - Happily Ever After

Althwyn set down her tankard, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining as she batted her eyelashes at some hapless young man over her shoulder. "Malath," she said, pausing at the table. "Do you think Niniel will forget me, now that she's a lady again? I mean, of course she won't forget you - Head Laundress of Meduseld - and they'll need one, now that the tapestries and the nice linens are coming back out, Berca says - but do you think she'll forget me?"

Malath shifted a drowsy Ecthelion in her lap. Apparently the head table had been both a bit boring and a bit overwhelming for him. "No," she said, trading a wink with Ceorl, who was up near the dais. "I don't. In fact, I hear someone has a birthday coming up, and that for someone's birthday, when she's old enough, she might be getting an invitation to come live at court." Malath shrugged ostentatiously. "Of course, that's only what I hear."

Althwyn's eyes grew brighter. "Oooh. I hope Mother will let me."

Angwen arrived from the kitchens with a tray, rounding out their contingent from Aldburg. "Well, if you want to help out at court, you can start now," she sniffed, grabbing Althwyn's empty tankard and some other abandoned ones. She shoved the tray at the girl and immediately snagged a drink from one of the hall's actual servants. "Berca's still in there with a pile of dishes scolding who knows who, and it's my turn to enjoy myself." She smiled at Ecthelion. "He'll sleep well, I wager."

Althwyn flounced away with the tray, adding an extra bounce in her step for the benefit of the young men watching.

"And she'll make trouble," Malath said fondly.

"Don't we know it." Angwen took a sip of mead. "Those pears you gave me were tasty. Pity the jar had cracked, but I suppose it was just one of a dozen. Do you hear from that girl often?"

"Oh, yes." Malath smiled. "She's come into a bit of land, actually; she and her husband are to be head caretakers." That bit of land was called Pinnath Gelin and was a little closer than Minas Tirith. Osiric might even be healed enough that he and Cewin could come visit.

"Speaking of caretaking, I'll come by Fanbern's now and then. Keep things spruced up for the King and Queen. I think they'll be at Aldburg more often."

They stretched their feet. They watched Niniel and her Captain feed each other bites of food and kiss to the toasts.

Angwen caught Wulfstan's eye a few tables away and held up seven fingers; a July baby for sure, that was worth her two bits. "Happily ever after?" she asked Malath.

"Happily ever after," Malath replied. "Cheers!"


End file.
